


Percy Weasley and the Warden of Azkaban

by peteryoushouldwrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Azkaban, Dementors, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 13:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5092748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peteryoushouldwrite/pseuds/peteryoushouldwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four breakouts. Three dead house elves. Two potential outcomes. One warden who's gotten a little too comfortable. Percy Weasley is about to find out just what else lurks within the walls of Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after Deathly Hallows and is consistent with the published works but may not be consistent with everything on Pottermore. Information regarding the history of Azkaban is borrowed from Pottermore. This story contains levels of violence comparable to the movies.

                “Percy.”

                Percy didn’t respond, his quill scratching furiously across his parchment.

                “Percy!”

                He jumped in surprise, nearly upending his inkwell over his report.

                “There’s no need to shout, Wally,” he snarled, jamming his quill back into its rest.

                “There is perfect need when you ignore me. I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes. It was either shout at you or jinx you,” Wally said, licking another envelope closed. A huge stack of sealed reports lay on his listing desk, all signed and stamped for delivery.

                “Well? What is it?”

                Wally pointed at the clock, a relic of the office’s previous occupant, which had simply refused to come off the wall when Percy and Wally moved in. A grotesque animated doll shaped like a garden gnome dangled precariously from a ladder, hanging from a rung underneath a small forty five, its hand beginning to reach for another rung under a large number twelve.

                Percy’s mouth dropped open.

                “Dammit Wally, I wanted to get there by 11:45, not leave at 11:45!” he said, jumping out of his chair and grabbing his official ministry robe off its hanger.

                Wally shrugged and yawned. “Everyone already thinks you’re a brownnoser, Perce, and if you’re the first one there, they’ll _know_ you’re a brownnoser.”

                Percy glared but didn’t respond, pulling his robe over his head with one hand and gathering his quill and a blank parchment with the other.

                “Hey, can you grab me a pastry from…”

                Percy slammed the door shut behind him, not caring from where Wally wanted a pastry. What kind of assistant asked his super to bring him food? He decided to address it later.

                He raced through the ministry halls, nodding breathlessly at colleagues and acquaintances as he dodged by them and ducked under buzzing interoffice memos. He slammed his shoulder into a stairwell door and leapt down three stairs at a time to reach the floor below.

                He narrowly avoided colliding with a startled witch driving a pastry cart, gasping in relief at the sight of the conference room booked for his Committee. A nearby clock read five till noon. He was on time, but far later than he would have liked.

                “Degrumo,” he muttered, pointing his wand at his temple. His hair straightened and smoothed itself instantly into place. He took a breath to steady himself and stepped into the conference room.

                It was dark inside, the only light coming from a dozen candles circling over the heavy wooden table. He cursed silently to find that everyone else had already arrived and found seats in the gloom. He slid into the seat nearest the door.

                “I know it’s a few minutes early, but we may as well begin,” said an old witch with frizzy hair.

                “Some of us likely know each other already, but I think introductions are in order. Let’s go around briefly, just say your name and title. I’ll go ahead and start. My name is Gertrude Hopkins, and I am the Wizengamot Representative.

                “Marcus Rathburn, Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.”

                “Calliope Quintin, Chief Auror.”

                “Percy Weasley, Ministry Designee.”

                Gertrude paused to give the scribe scribbling in the corner a chance to catch up.

                “As you should already be aware, the Wizengamot has called us to form the Committee for the Improvement of Azkaban. The Wizengamot is entertaining the proposal to reinstate the Dementors to their former posts, and we are either to second their motion or perform an official Inquiry and present an alternative. We have, as usual, eight days to perform the inquiry and we will finalize our statement next Tuesday.”

                “Do they actually want us to perform an inquiry, or is this some kind of political stalling tactic?” Marcus asked, tapping his fingers together.

                Gertrude forced a smile. “The Wizengamot would not form a Committee just to waste time, Marcus.”

                He leaned back in his chair, the back squeaking as his weight shifted. “Tell that to the C.E.A.C.M.D.C.G.G. I have heard that the motion to form this Committee was made by a Wizengamot minority group on the verge of being outvoted. We, or at least I, am a very busy person to have to serve on a Committee if our recommendations will only fall on deaf ears.”

                Percy felt his mouth drop open for a second time today. He knew Marcus but reputation only, but he had always figured the rumors were overblown accounts. In just a few short minutes Marcus had lived up to his name and then some. Though he had to agree the Committee for the Evaluation of the Appropriateness of Conventional Methods of the Disposal of the Common Garden Gnome was perhaps not the best use of time.

                “The reason for the motion, Mr. Rathburn, is beyond your rank to question,” Gertrude said, her teeth grinding. His eyebrow cocked but he said nothing. “In any case, I would like to open the floor to say that I am in favor of the reinstatement of the Dementors. I do not think it fair to worry about the comforts of murderers and Death Eaters.”

                Calliope spoke up next. “I am also in favor. I’m not thrilled at the use of Dementors, but the Minister’s emergency order to staff the prison with Aurors was only meant to be a short term solution and is too much of a drain on my staff. I don’t have the people or the budget to maintain this much longer.”

                “Opposed,” Marcus muttered, glaring at a candle as it wandered past him. He didn’t seem keen to elaborate on his stance.

                Calliope nudged him with her elbow. “You’re supposed to say why, Mr. Rathburn. For the record, you know.”

                “Oh, well if it’s for the record. The Dementors haven’t proven themselves especially reliable, have they? There have been four major breakouts, three of them over the course of only four years, when the most high profile inmates flew the coop. It’s hardly a track record which speaks well for itself. Dozens of people have died because of this… inconsistency.”

                After he finished he took a sip of his water, then turned to look at Percy. He suddenly became aware that Gertrude and Calliope were waiting for him to speak as well.

                Percy would never admit it to the Committee, but he truly did not care whether or not the Dementors were reinstated. On the one hand, he could vote in favor of reinstatement and end the Committee. He had plenty of assignments waiting for him in his office.

                On the other hand, serving on the Committee was far more interesting than any of his other assignments, and certainly more interesting than anything he had ever done since he first joined the ministry. He shuddered as his mind flashed back to a particularly onerous report on imported cauldron thicknesses. It was an honor for such a junior member of the Minister’s team to be entrusted with a decision with such far reaching implications as the security of Azkaban. It would be a shame for it to end abruptly with simply favoring the majority opinion.

                “Opposed,” he said, trying not to smile. “Seconding the rationale of Mr. Rathburn.”

                For a moment no one spoke, uneasy with the stalemate. They glanced around at each other, and Percy grew increasingly uncomfortable in the silence.

                “So…” Calliope said at last, “did we not think to include a fifth committee member to prepare for this possibility? Or is our scribe more than he seems?”

                “We do have a fifth Committee member, but he was unable to attend this meeting,” Gertrude said, grimacing.

                “The first meeting?” Percy gaped. “He couldn’t make the first meeting?” 

                Percy tried not to wither under Gertrude’s glare.

                “Pray tell, who is the fifth member of the Committee?” Marcus asked, crossing his arms.

                “The Warden of Azkaban, Polonius Greengrass.”

 

* * *

 

 

                “And then, Marcus says, ‘What? Good ol’ Polonius doesn’t feel the need to weigh in on whether or not we cut his own lawn?’” Percy said, laughing as he mashed buttons haphazardly.

                Audrey smiled, leaning against the refrigerator door. “Do wizards need to cut their lawns?” she mused. “Oh, and you set it for twenty minutes. Two will be fine.”

                Percy squinted at the microwave display and saw his error, and corrected it with another series of buttons. He pressed ‘Start,’ and grinned as the microwave hummed to life.

                “There are a couple of ways to handle it. There is a spell for cutting lawns, or you could buy a potion which stops the grass from growing very high. The spell’s cheaper but it takes most of the afternoon to finish,” he said, watching the water beginning to bubble in the microwave.

                “So even with magic, teenage wizards still spend their summer afternoon cutting lawns?”

                Percy shook his head. “Actually they can’t, because of the Statue of Underage Magic. Parents have to do it themselves unless one of their children is seventeen and still happen to live at home, which is generally only the case for one summer,” he said. The microwave beeped and he took out the glass of water and poured it into two mugs. He handed one to Audrey and followed her into the living room, where they flopped down on her surprisingly soft sofa.

                “I don’t know if I find it encouraging or discouraging,” she began, as she stretched her feet over Percy’s knee, “that magic people seemed to be as tied up in bureaucracy as non-magic, er, muggles.”

                Percy shrugged. “I guess all people need rules. Anyway, I’ll need to go to Azkaban for a few days, and we might actually be staying on the grounds overnight. Since the initial vote was a tie, we have to perform the Inquiry by default. It’s lucky for me that Greengrass wasn’t there to vote; I doubt he enjoys having to share the reigns with the Chief Auror. I bet he had a lot more power when it was just him and a bunch of Dementors running the place.”

                “Do you get to sleep in a cell? Really get the whole experience?”

                “No, I expect the ministry will provide some tents for us,” he said, though in truth he wasn’t sure. He knew Audrey was only joking, but he wondered what the Warden’s idea of hospitality would be. “I don’t know if I’ll be back before Thursday, though.”

                She took a sip of her tea. “That’s fine, I’ve got an exam on Friday, so I should probably bury my head in a book for the next few days. At least you’re not ruining my weekend with a business trip.”

                “Another exam? What’s it on?”

                “That’s grad school for you. This one’s covering the theory and practice and Cognitive Behavioral Therapy,” she said, covering her mouth as she yawned. “Too bad they’re not called O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.S. or T.O.A.D.S., I think I would be a lot more enthusiastic if they were.”

                “Hey, they might sound funny, but those exams rule out what you can and cannot do for a career for the rest of your life!”

                “That does suck. I didn’t do that great in some of my core classes but it didn’t matter too much in the end because I did well at University. How do you feel about going to Azkaban?”

                Percy frowned and stared into his tea. He wondered if Divination could work with muggle tea; maybe then he could have an idea of what to expect. Not that he had exactly excelled in Divination. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember anyone who _had_ excelled in Divination. He would have to ask Ron or Ginny if they knew anyone who took a Divination N.E.W.T..

                “I don’t know,” he said at last. “It’s not a place anyone wants to go. Most people who wind up in Azkaban die in Azkaban. The Dementors aren’t there now, but I doubt it’s all sunshine and daisies. I don’t know. I’ll have to tell you when I get back.”

                She peered at him over her mug, steam fogging up her glasses. “It sounds like you don’t feel ready to make a decision about Azkaban unless you’ve been to Azkaban.”

                Percy paused, tilting his head for a moment before answering.

                “You know, I don’t think I could have put that into words, myself, but yeah, that’s right. How do you do that anyway?”

                Audrey smiled. “Call it muggle magic,” she said mysteriously. “Actually, no, we call it reflective listening, but that doesn’t sound nearly as interesting.”

                “I was going to say, I’ve seen muggle magic, and it’s…” he trailed off, uncertain if what he was about to say could be offensive.

                “Underwhelming? Uninspiring? Lame? Not worth the twenty an hour?” she offered.

                Percy laughed. “Yeah. Any of those could work.”


	2. Chapter Two

                “Why can’t I come to Azkaban too?” Wally moaned, mock pounding his forehead into his narrow desk, sending letters flying. It was most unbecoming behavior for a man nearly the same age as his father, but Percy found he could not look away.

                “You realize it is a prison, don’t you, and not a sweets shop?” Percy said, sliding another notebook into his satchel. He skimmed over his shelves to see if there were any books that might be of use on his trip. _Momentous Ministry Decisions, 1980-1990_ stood out to him, so he put that in net to his notebook.

                “Then it can’t be all that different from this place…” Wally murmured.

                “I heard that!”

                “Well it’s true! Except I hear Azkaban is on an island, so maybe their assistants can at least have a view. It must be nice to have something, I don’t know, different, to look at, you know?” he said, looking pointedly at a painting of the Ministry of Magic lobby.

                Percy ignored him, checking his drawers to see if he was forgetting anything.

                “Say, you didn’t see if Ms. Tanner is still driving the pastry cart, did you?”

                “No,” Percy lied.

                “I haven’t seen her in a while. I hope she still works here. I sure would like a bun off her tray, if you catch my meaning.

                Percy curled his lip in disgust. “No, I don’t catch your meaning, but please, do not enlighten me. And Wally, if you continue speaking disrespectfully of Ministry employees, I’m going to have to give you a verbal warning. It’s the Ministry of Magic, not a singles’ club.”

                “Tell that to the Department of Mysteries,” Wally said with a grin.

                Percy grabbed an empty inkwell and whipped it at Wally, who deftly twisted out of the way.

                “That ridiculous bar will be closed within a week, I tell you!” he roared.

                “On a committee for that too, are you?”

                Percy held a hand to his temple, which had suddenly begun to throb violently.

                “I think we will both benefit from a few days apart, Wally.”

                “I’ll keep the mail sorted until you return, sir.”

                “Thank you.”

                Satisfied he had everything he would need, he jerked his head goodbye at Wally and pulled his office door closed behind him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Wally, he was pretty sure he did on some level. But he was baffled by him. Wally set a Ministry record by spending an unmatched twenty eight years as Assistant to the Minister’s Junior Aide. His lack of ambition was something between appalling and astonishing.

                Percy stepped into the elevator with a herd of other Ministry officials in dark robes.

                “B2 please,” he said, and the witch nearest the door pressed the button for him.

                After a number of jarring stops, there were only two other officials and a handful of memos floating over their heads when they finally reached B2. Percy touched his hat in thanks as the other wizards moved out of his way and the elevator dinged behind him.

                The detention levels of the Ministry were mostly deserted these days. It had been a drastic, but gradual, change from the weeks following the Battle of Hogwarts when the halls had been packed wall to wall. It had been a nightmare trying to sort through the chaos and distinguish the true Death Eaters from the lackeys, and Percy had been glad to see the long days and late nights go.

                He pushed open the massive door to the courtroom where he was to meet the rest of his Committee. Percy had spent a considerable amount of time sitting with Shacklebolt’s cohort, but he never had gotten used to the high backed chair with the limp manacles lying dormant in the center of the amphitheater. He shuddered to think of how many Death Eaters and murderers had sat in that chair. Worse still was to imagine how many innocents may have been accidentally condemned alongside them.

                The chair did not care. It knew only locked or unlocked, secured or unsecured, in fulfillment of its creators wishes. He stared at it contemplatively, wondering what sort of person invented it.

                “Are you afraid of it?”

                Percy jumped in surprised, turning to see Calliope watching from one of the seats in the front row. She looked like a proper Auror now, having shirked traditional Ministry robes for travelling gear with another of strange devices dangling from a bandoleer.

                “Yes,” he admitted.

                “Good,” she said, rising and coming down the steps to stand by him, crossing her arms. “Having that chair takes its toll on our soul.”

                 “What do you mean?”

                “You know it’s a modified portkey, right?”

                “Yes,” he said.

                She stepped towards the chair and placed her hand on its armrest, running a finger over the grain of the wood.

                “What does it say about us that we keep a one way ticket to hell permanently installed in the basement of our government building?” she asked, looking disdainfully down at a loose chain twitching towards her foot.

                Percy frowned. “Didn’t you vote for the reinstatement of the Dementors?” he said. It didn’t make sense for her to wax poetic about the moral dangers of Azkaban if she was in favor of restoring it to its former glory.

                “It’s certainly a more realistic option than staffing the place with Aurors, but that doesn’t mean I like it,” she explained.

                “What if the Ministry allocated a larger budget for you, so you could afford a full retinue of Aurors at Azkaban in addition to your Aurors in the field?” Percy asked.

                Calliope shook her head. “The budget is only part of the problem. The fact of the matter is, oftentimes the only difference between an Auror and a Dark Wizard is who strikes their galleons. I don’t want my Aurors spending too much time with Dark Wizards. We don’t want them rubbing off on each other.” She looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Ah, it seems our companions have arrived at last.”

                “The fault is all mine,” Marcus announced, Gertrude marching in front of him as fast as she could without openly running. She had a dark look on her face and a vein in her forehead looked dangerously close to bursting. “It seems I pushed the wrong button on the elevator and Gertrude was forced to learn what it was like to have her time wasted.”

                “Yes, who would have thought the EMERGENCY STOP button would have STOPPED THE ELEVATOR!” she spat. Her voice echoed twice in the amphitheater and she took a deep breath. She began again, her voice considerably more controlled. “We mustn’t keep the Warden waiting. He’ll be expecting us…” she glanced at the clock and yelped, “five minutes ago. If you would all please join hands, we can be off.”

                “True, it would be terrible if the Warden should be inconvenienced by our absence,” Calliope said, and Marcus snickered. Gertrude shot them both an angry glare, and mustered a pleasant smile for Percy, holding out her hand.

                Percy took it and he felt Marcus’ heavy hand grab his free one. Gertrude looked to see they were all joined and then touched the chair and muttered a low incantation.

                The gut wrenching sensation of portkey teleportation was thankfully over before Percy knew it. He managed to keep his feet on landing, having grown accustomed to portkey travel since setting up a connection to Audrey’s apartment. It would have been embarrassing if he had been the only one to arrive on his back.

                They landed in a small stone chamber with dark stains on the floor. Cool gray light filtered into the room through a pair of narrow arrow slits in the wall.

                A portly, balding wizard with a severe sunburn greeted them with a grin, a tray with four glasses of amber liquid levitating beside him.

                “Welcome, fellow Committee members, to Azkaban!” he said warmly, pressing a glass into each of their hands. “Come now, drink up! Nothing like a glass of my all time favorite drink to cure a case of post portkey wobbles!”

                Marcus downed his in one swallow, and Percy did the same. It tasted like the Cruciatus curse in potion form.

                “Is this Quintin’s Black?” Calliope asked, grimacing.

                “You must possess a sharp palate indeed! I find this to be the finest example of a good dark scotch.”

                “Subtle,” Calliope said flatly.

                Marcus and Gertrude, I already know. A pleasure as always. And who is this fine young man?”

                “Percy Weasley, sir. Junior Aide to the Minister,” he said, more than a little disconcerted by the Warden’s jovial demeanor in such a somber place. One could almost mistake him for the proprietor of Honeydukes.

                “Truly, Percy Weasley,” the Warden’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “I don’t suppose you had grandparents named Cedrella and Septimus?”

                “The same.”

                “Ah! Splendid indeed. I am Polonius Greengrass, Warden of Azkaban,” he said, clasping Percy’s hand in both of his own and giving it a vigorous shake.

                “We missed you at our meeting yesterday, Polonius,” Calliope said, though it seemed clear by her tone that she had not missed him in the slightest.

                Polonius shook his head gravely. “You have my deepest apologies, madam, but you’ll certainly understand when you hear my explanation. You see, I was in the midst of a fierce tug a war with a merman over a beautiful marlin I had snagged, and I simply could not get away. Now, I have a full day planned for us and we mustn’t tarry a moment more.”

                He spun about and led them through a door of iron bars down a long corridor lit by green torches. Polonius continued to talk as he walked, but his words were hopelessly garbled by the echo.

                “You heard him right, Weasley,” Marcus said, bending his head to speak directly into Percy’s ear. “Dear Polonius likes to pass the time fishing.”

                “Fishing? As in…”

                As in throwing a line with a hook in the water and waiting for something ot bite. I think that, along with a healthy dose of Occlumency, shields him from the worst of this place. Also why he’s got such a wicked sunburn.”

                 

* * *

 

                Percy was certain that they must have walked at least four miles by the time they broke for lunch, and every inch of him ached. Yet Polonius had somehow managed to show them very little in the last three hours, mostly one empty room after another. Dust and cobwebs lay so thick it was difficult to breathe, and Percy suspected it would take days to wretch his lungs clean. When Polonius decided it was time to take a rest, he guided them up yet another flight of slick stone steps to a balcony.

                It was, anyway, the Azkaban equivalent of a balcony. Which meant it was really nothing more than a narrow ledge with a short iron grate serving as a pitiful excuse for a guardrail, all overlooking a sheer drop two hundred feet down to the choppy water. Percy clenched the doorframe for a moment to quell an intense bout of vertigo before he was able to step onto the balcony.

                “Please, everyone, have a seat,” Polonius said, gesturing to five rotting lawn chairs which only just fit. Percy carefully picked his way around Marcus and Gertrude, certain that a strong gust would at any moment fling him into the ocean. Springs snapped as he collapsed into the last open chair. He wondered if after lunch he could find a way to crawl back inside without anyone noticing.

                With a loud crack plates materialized on their laps, and Marcus cursed beside him as steaming soup sloshed onto his pants.

                “Ooh, so sorry about that. I had the house elves whip up something a little fancier than the infamous Azkaban gruel, and it appears they were a little overenthusiastic in their ladling.”

                Percy’s plate was missing a bowl of soup, but seeing the growing stain on Marcus’ pants he felt it was for the best. He popped a cube of cheese into his mouth.

                “Do you ever have problems with the house elves and Dementors not getting along?” he asked, nearly having to shout over the wind.

                Polonius pointed at his mouth and held up a finger, indicating that he needed a moment to chew. At last he swallowed and put down his sandwich.

                “It’s funny you should say that. For the most part, no. I’ve given it some serious thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that because house elves are happiest when they’re miserable, the Dementors get confused and just leave them be.”

                “What do you mean, for the most part?”

                Polonius winced and conveniently popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. He shrugged apologetically, pointing again at his jaw moving up and down in an exaggerated chewing motion, though Percy was sure he had already swallowed.

                “Well, you do sometimes find a few dead house elves in a corner somewhere, but it’s difficult to know whether they’ve been Kissed or if they just got a little overenthusiastic in punishing themselves. I mean, do they even _have_ souls to Kiss? Such matters are above my pay grade.”

                Gertrude nodded. “Thank you for the sandwich, Polonius, a most excellent bit of refreshment.”

                “Yes, shall we get back to it? I’m looking forward to seeing more than empty store rooms.” Marcus said, tossing a piece of bread crust over the railing.

                Polonius scowled but said nothing. They rose together and brushed crumbs off their robes and filed back inside one by one, thankfully without incident.

                While it had taken a full three hours to see the entirety of the prison’s unused storage space, touring the prison block actually in use went rather quickly. They visited the Auror’s barracks, a low ceilinged room with rows of narrow bunk beds. Then they went through a swinging door and saw the Auror’s common room, which also served as their dining area.

                Finally, Polonius took them to the dungeon area, a massive chamber so long it must have run the entire length of the prison. The cells were stacked three high, the upper two accessible only by a handful of unstable looking ladders drifting aimlessly through the air. The cell doors bristled with a multitude of bars and locks, with tiny peepholes no larger than a galleon. Dim light filtered through dirty yellow skylights reinforced with more bars.

                A half dozen Aurors paced slowly about the block, occasionally bending their eyes to the peepholes to check on their wards. They nodded to Calliope when they noticed her, but otherwise gave no sign they noticed the group.

                “Isn’t it a fine prison? Very heavy doors. Now, I expect it’s nearly time for tea,” Polonius said, moving to usher them back into the corridor.

                “Hold on. I for one would like to see inside of a cell,” Marcus said, stepping around Polonius.

                Polonius’ face twitched in several directions in rapid sequence. Percy assumed he was digging deep to find a reason to refuse Marcus but was coming up short.

                “If you must, 1Q2 is open,” he said with a sigh. They followed him to a cell almost halfway down the block. He tapped it with his wand and it swung open, nearly clipping Gertrude in the shoulder.

                “Apologies, my dear, they can be a little eager at times,” he said, holding the door open on one side. Calliope turned away and began to walk towards the nearest Auror.

                “You’re not going?” Percy asked.

                “Seen it,” she said.

                Percy shrugged, waiting his turn to walk into the cell. Gertrude came out with her nose wrinkled and her hand held to her mouth. He stepped inside, for a moment terrified Polonius would slam the door shut with a laugh. It seemed like the sort of thing Fred and George would have found hysterical.

                He bumped his head on the low ceiling, and was immediately overwhelmed by a sudden and complete silence. His breathing and heartbeat seemed impossibly loud, and echoed back to him louder and louder. The floors and walls were caked in a layer of red, brown, and yellow filth. Unable to bear it a moment longer, he turned and stumbled towards the door. His foot slipped on a wet puddle and began to tumble, his arms stretched out before him.

                Thankfully someone grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled him out of the cell. Marcus righted him and gave his arm a squeeze. “Good to stand, Weasley?”

 Percy nodded mutely, feeling cold. Marcus stepped into the cell and emerged just a few seconds later shaking his head.

                “Ready for a spot of tea? I fancy a shortcake!” Polonius announced.


	3. Chapter Three

                Polonius’ office was far too small for five, and the seating options were less than optimal as well. Somewhere Polonius had managed to scrounge some hard stools that were just uncomfortable enough for everyone to fit. Percy took a sip of his tea, and he had to admit the heat did calm his nerves somewhat.

                Not only was Polonius’ office small, the décor was nothing short of disturbing. It had that pureblood sensibility of the macabre. Much of their sitting space was dominated by a grandfather clock with an asymmetrically swinging pendulum. A bronze globe sat in the corner, but spun erratically and the orbit occasionally switched directions. The most distracting piece of furniture was a strange sundial that sat next to Polonius’ well cushioned seat. The numbers and face seemed normal, but the dial was formed by a tarnished silver figure bound with barbed wire wrapped around its waist and cuffing its hands together. It clutched a bowl with razor sharp edges, full of a dark red liquid. Percy told himself it wasn’t blood, but he couldn’t be sure.

                “I’m so glad we did this,” Polonius said. “I’m sure you will all agree that it will be best to support the Wizengamot majority motion to reinstate the Dementors of Azkaban?”

                “Why?” Percy asked. He tried not to shrink as everyone turned to look at him.

                Polonius frowned, setting his tea down on his desk.

                “What do you mean, why?”

                “Well, we all had to justify our vote at the meeting yesterday,” he said, “for the record, you know.”

                Polonius folded his hands over his stomach and gave Percy a very stern look. “Well, it’s clear that it is unfair to the Aurors that they should have to live here in this most unpleasant place. They ought to be able to go about their business as they please, not knocking on my door every time they want to go home, no? The Aurors will be happy, the Dementors will be happy, I will be happy, everyone will be happy! So let’s call it a day, and go our separate ways, shall we?”

                “Due to a tied first vote, the Committee’s decision defaulted to a full inquiry,” Percy said, taking another sip of tea and doing his best to look blasé.

                “Bah! Nonsense As soon as the owls arrive at the Ministry with the results of the first full vote to uphold their majority, they will dissolve this Committee and it’ll be back to business as usual.”

                “It’s true. If we’re decided, there’s really no need to waste anyone’s time anymore,” Gertrude added, looking pointedly at Marcus.

                “But we’ve not really seen anything! It’s all been empty rooms, but we aren’t any wiser about how the prison functions. We have not seen anything today which suggests that Azkaban is better off with the Dementors than with the Aurors. Protocol demands we do this right. The only real waste of time would be to come out here and not actually do anything but give a mindless stamp of approval when we were supposed to be holding and investigation!” Percy said, his teacup clinking in his saucer as his hands shook in frustration.

                “A fine statement, Mr. Weasely. I’m sure you’ll someday make a fine addition to the Wizengamot,” Gertrude said, patting his hand in a most patronizing way. “But the matter is decided. I’ll send the owl with the official ballot straightaway.”

                “I revoke my former vote,” Calliope said softly.

                “What!” Polonius shouted as he jumped to his feet, his sunburned face a flushing to a violent shade of red.

                “Oh we all know you heard her, Polonius,” Marcus said with a smile.

                “I revoke my former vote,” Calliope said again, “until such time as a satisfactory inquiry can be performed to its full extent.”

                “Well, this is absurd!” Polonius said, his neck swelling to the size of his rather substantial head.

                Calliope leaned forward, speaking so quietly Percy had to strain to hear her. “Seeing as it is my staff running the place, I have the most to lose by upholding the status quo. My opinion carries the most weight. Mr. Weasley is right. Our opinion will set the standard in Azkaban for years to come. We should not pay the Wizengamot, or the Wizarding community, lip service.”

                The shock evidently having passed, Polonius appeared to shift rapidly from anger into denial. He slowly sat back into his overstuffed chair, wiping his brow and muttering “this is absurd,” to no one in particular.

                Finally he regained control of himself and licked his lips, staring at Percy with eyes ablaze.

                “All right then, Mr. Weasley, what would you like to see? What would satisfy your . . . curiosity?”

                “Ledgers, registries, prisoner backgrounds, procedures,” Percy said, feeling brazen. After all, who could oppose him while he had the Chief Auror at his side? “Anything on paper you could imagine.”

                Polonius face split into a broad smile, dimples reaching to his ears.

                “Well, Mr. Weasley. Ask and you shall receive.”

 

* * *

 

 

                Polonius delivered on his promise in a spectacular fashion.

                Azkaban’s house elves had worked furiously that evening to clear a storeroom of dust to prepare a workspace for Percy. Much of it was still floating through the air, but at least some of it was gone. It was a nominal effort at best, but it was all he was going to get.

                Three of the stacks of parchment had toppled already but Percy wasn’t terribly concerned. There were a dozen more waist high piles, and it was painfully clear they had not been delivered in any semblance of order. It would be best to start from scratch with a new organization system, filing each document under a tag that would make sense to him. He would have to wait until later to worry about the actual content.

                He had decided on four categories: prisoner records, prison protocols, personal mail, and miscellany. Percy knew they were too broad, but he had to start somewhere. He would have to break them down into specific subcategories once he finished an initial sort.

                Percy’s eyes ached from hours of trying to read fading ink under vague wandlight. He sat back and rubbed his face with the heels of his hands.

                Looking up at the hundreds, if not thousands of documents left to sort lying scattered about the room, Percy found himself wishing he had brought Wally to do the grunt work. He was certainly beginning to regret his move to prolong the inquiry. He really had believed that they were not given ample reason to vote for reinstatement of the Dementors, and it seemed like the Warden was trying to scoot them in and out as quickly as possible. But Percy had a feeling he was on the verge of getting himself into a fight he could not win.

                He knew it would do him no good to dwell on consequences just yet. The fact of the matter was that the Azkaban breakouts clearly proved that all was not well. Come to think of it, Percy was unsure how Polonius had managed to avoid a summons to appear before the Wizengamot in the wake of the escapes. It seemed strange to think that it was easy to forgive the escape of the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange. Percy didn’t remember seeing any documentation explaining how the escapes were successful or what the Ministry’s official stance was. It was possible that Fudge or Scrimgeour had known what happened and simply allowed everything to remain off the record. A lot had happened off the record in those days. Percy knew because he had been an aide at many of those off the record meetings.

                It also seemed possible that Polonius had avoided indictment purely on a technicality. In the madness after the Battle of Hogwarts, anything less than murder simply wasn’t worth investigating. There hadn’t been time.

                When his back and neck felt a bit better, he reached out and grabbed another page at random. It was a record of Azkaban Wardens and their dates of tenure. Percy scowled as he read through it.

                “I see Polonius banished you to an especially gloomy corner of hell.”

                “Hello, Marcus,” Percy said, checking the dates a third time to make sure he read it correctly. “How does one become Warden of Azkaban?”

                Marcus grabbed a handful of papers and lowered himself to the ground, groaning on the way down. “Charges against Oswald Dulcimer?” he asked. Percy pointed at the stack for prisoner records and Marcus set it on top. “I’m surprised you don’t know. I suppose you are young, though. I don’t know if you’ve been with the Ministry long enough to hear the threats”

                “What do you mean?” Percy asked, straightening himself. He knew exactly how old he was, and did not appreciate constant reminding. It wasn’t his fault he was unusually successful for his age Oh wait, he corrected himself, it was his fault.

“Well, it’s usually a punishment posting. It’s where they send Ministry officials when they get caught with their hands in the wrong pots, and they don’t want to sack them because it would draw too much attention. Accounts payable for Barley Brothers Barley imports?”

                Percy pointed at the last pile without looking. “Miscellany,” he said. “So that’s why nineteen out of the twenty Wardens on this list served more than a year?”

                “Right. But our dear Polonius served how many?”

                Percy checked the Warden list again, just to be sure. “Eighteen.”

                Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Eighteen? I knew he’s been at it a while, but I didn’t realize it’s been eighteen years.”

                “So did he do something that much worse than the other Wardens?” Percy asked, setting the paper aside. He suspected he would want to return to it later.

                “I’m sure you can find the answer to that question somewhere in this room. But I doubt Polonius’ duration of service has anything to do with his past indiscretions,” he said, squinting hard to read a scrap of unusually stained paper. He gave up, balling it up and tossing it in the corner.

                “What do you mean?”

                “You’re smart. You tell me.”

                Percy paused, a little taken aback. It was almost like having a more intelligent version of Wally to help him hammer out ideas.

                “Maybe Polonius got here, and somehow he got comfortable,” he said. It was fairly obvious that Polonius was content with his lot as the Warden of Azkaban. Then something else occurred to him. “Maybe he keeps his documents this disorganized so it’ll seem like more trouble than it’s worth to uproot him. But I don’t get why he would be so eager to have the Dementors around again.”

                “Well, technically the Chief Auror outranks the Warden, so as long as the Aurors are around the Warden is essentially demoted. I heard another theory though, which I find much more convincing, from a fellow at the Department of Mysteries. He told me Polonius is a vampire, but I’m pretty sure he was drunk.”

                Percy’s mouth dropped open. “Drunk? At work?”

                “Oh no, not at work,” Marcus laughed. “I said _at_ the Department of Mysteries, not _in_ the Department of Mysteries. Very important distinction. This was at that bar in Knockturn Alley.”

                Percy collapsed into his hands in exasperation “That bar,” he groaned, “they need to close that bar!”

                “Why? They’ve got killer ambiance. I think the owner has some connections, because it actually does look a fair bit like the Department of Mysteries.”

                “All right, maybe I’ll give it a try sometime,” Percy lied. “But in all seriousness, if this disorganization is a tactic to keep us out, it’s working. I don’t know that I’ll be able to categorize this and find the information we need fast enough. The Wizengamot isn’t going to wait around forever while we do this. We have less than a week now before we’ll be dissolved.”  He sighed in frustration. “If I kept my office in this chaos, I’d be sacked by lunch! How does he get away with this?”

                “Again, Weasley, this is Azkaban. The more disorganized he keeps the place the less likely anyone is to say anything, for fear they will be the ones sent to take care of it,” Marcus said, starting a second stack for prisoner records.

                Percy felt a light breeze, and looked up as Calliope entered with a smirk on her face.

                “Wow, he buried you deep, didn’t he?” she asked, surveying the mayhem in amusement.

                “Care to join us?” Marcus offered, holding up a sheaf of unsorted papers.

                She quickly shook her head. “Tempting, but no thank you. I’m here to bring you to lunch.”

                “Ah. And how has Polonius been entertaining you this morning?” Marcus asked, yawning and stretching his arms over his head.

                Percy tried to stand, but found his leg had fallen fast asleep. He slapped it until it prickled and accepted Calliope’s outstretched arm.

                “He’s been taking me and Gertrude to the supposed breech sites,” she said, hoisting Percy to his feet. “Telling me what happened during the breakouts and what he’s done to correct past errors.”

                “Supposed?” Percy repeated. “Do you not believe what he said?”

                She shrugged. “We don’t have a lot of concrete information from any front about what happened during the breakouts or how they succeeded. The Ministry was more concerned about hushing them up than investigating them, especially once the Death Eaters had Thicknesse in charge. And obviously none of the escapees were willing to tell us much, so without any other evidence we pretty much have to accept Polonius’ account.”

                “You have to wonder if Polonius was somehow involved with the Death Eaters. Didn’t they replace everyone in power who didn’t support them?” Percy said, brushing dust off the seat of his pants.

                Calliope looked very sternly at Percy. “That’s a very serious accusation, Mr. Weasley, and you would do well not to repeat it without damn good reason,” she said, then her face softened. “But I would not be surprised to find he did not at least look the other way. Supposedly he was knocked unconscious when Death Easters blasted open the side of the prison, and when he woke up half the inmates were gone. If that’s the case, Polonius did a remarkable job cleaning up the damage.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “It would take a damn good wizard to patch up a fifteen foot long hole in the wall. Not to mention repairing the Unplottable and Apparating wards. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but the repairs are perfect, down to the shade of the mortar,” Calliope said, checking her watch. “Anyway, we shouldn’t dawdle much longer. Polonius might begin to think we’re gossiping.”


	4. Chapter Four

                Polonius had ordered the house elves to scrounge some splintered, unmatching furniture and arrange a formal dining area in one of the few chambers with a window. The glass had long since shattered, but at least they had some natural light. This mismatched china chipped every time he said down his drink on the long metal table too roughly. Percy wobbled on his uneven bench, wondering if they could have found something that didn’t look like it came from a child’s play set. Seated, he looked a head shorter than the rest of the Committee, and he couldn’t help but feel like a child trying to sit at the adult table. He doubted it was accidental.

                “I have a very special treat prepared for my fine Committee fellows, a lemon pepper sea bass trawled in by yours truly last night!” Polonius announced eagerly, watching them begin to eat, then nodding in satisfaction as everyone took their first bite. Percy had to admit it was good, but he certainly wasn’t going to say so.

                “You went fishing last night?” Calliope said incredulously between bites.

                “Of course! It is my custom to fish every night! And in the mornings too, but I have put that part of my daily ritual on hold while this Committee is in session.”

                “What a shame,” Percy said, pushing a mystery green around his plate. “We had been sorting late last night; we could have used another pair of hands to clean up your paperwork.”

                Polonius held his grin carefully of place, but all signs of mirth vanished from his eyes. He slowly wiped his mouth with his napkin and cleared his throat.

                “Really, Mr. Weasley? I would have thought I would have been more a hindrance than a help. I do recall stories of a particularly onerous report on cauldron thicknesses which led me to you would have enjoyed a redundant task of paper sorting immensely. Besides,” he said, spearing a piece of fish, “it’s hardly polite to gossip about a man when he’s with you, no?”

                Percy felt his ears redden and he shared a look with Marcus. Had Polonius been eavesdropping?

                “So, have you found anything in your research to justify your stance, Mr. Weasley?” Gertrude asked, for once a welcome interruption.

                Percy shook his head. “As of now I’ve just been working on organizing records. I haven’t really begun building a case yet,” he explained, realizing how pathetic his lack of progress sounded.

                Polonius threw his head back with a peal of fake laughter. “How many hours of work, and nothing to show for yourself? Honestly my boy, I had expected better!”

                “I’m sorry to disappoint,” Percy said, the angry flush spreading from his ears to his cheeks. “Again, this is hardly work that should need to be done by this Committee. I believe we had expected affairs to be in order.”

                “Very clearly you did not,” Polonius said quietly. “Otherwise you might not have voted against returning the Dementors to their rightful home. Pity though, I suspect the Wizengamot’s patience will run out long before you manage to separate the p’s from the q’s.”

                Percy did not answer. He knew Polonius had a good point. Any request for an extension would quickly be stuffed. He needed time and manpower, two things he did not have. He would have to do something drastic.

                Percy had what he felt was a stroke of brilliance.

                “The rolls are delicious, Mr. Greengrass,” he said, trying to hide a grin. “You’ll have to commend your house elves.”

                Polonius took the compliment as a cue that it was time to disarm. For the rest of the meal he regaled them with incredible fish tales, not noticing or simply not caring to acknowledge their looks of disbelief.

                As they dispersed for the afternoon, Gertrude to tea in Polonius’ office, Calliope to her Aurors, and Marcus and Percy to their sorting, Percy caught Polonius’ elbow and asked if he could have a private word. They stepped out into the hall as plates and silvered form the table with loud bangs and puffs of smoke.

                “I apologize if I seemed disrespectful at all today, Polonius,” Percy said, mustering a look of sincerest contrition. Unlike Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, or Ginny, he had never had much time to practice it, but he imagined there was probably something in the Weasley genes about fake apologies. Polonius smiled, and Percy didn’t know if it was the lighting or the lines on his face, but Polonius looked genuinely weary.

                “It’s all right, Percy,” he said, patting Percy on the shoulder. “Politics, they bring out the worst in us. I’m afraid I’ve been shielded from the worst of it here on Azkaban, and I forget how the games are played and the songs are sung.”

                “No hard feelings?” Percy asked hopefully.

                “Of course not. No hard feelings.”

                “Wonderful! Could I ask you a favor, perhaps?”

                Polonius hesitated, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Percy gathered there were probably some hard feelings lingering.

                “Of course, Percy. What is it?” he said at last.

                “Do you think I could borrow an owl? See, I’ve been postponing responding to my brother about a family gathering, and if I put it off any longer my mother will have my head,” Percy explained.

                Polonius breathed a sigh of relief. He must have feared Percy might have asked a political favor, and it would have been in poor form to refuse so soon after their faux reconciliation.

                “Of course! Just come up to my office with your letter at your convenience and I’ll send it off straightaway! I have an owl or two who would make a Nimbus envious.”

 

* * *

 

 

                Percy and Marcus worked on organizing for the remainder of the day, breaking only a short while for an uneventful dinner. They sorted now in silence, uncertain what eavesdropping enchantments Polonius might have put in place, but Percy could barely focus on sorting with his heart pounding in anticipation. There was no way to know if his gamble would pay off until it was too late to enact any kind of backup plan. He was certain Polonius wouldn’t find any secret codes in the letter he sent Ron, though Percy hoped he would look. His ability to feign innocence would be entirely dependent on Polonius censoring the letter.

                Even if Polonius read the letter as he hoped, there was still plenty of room for error. Ron could be too thick to understand what Percy was playing at or Hermione would be too busy to look over his shoulder.

                Finally, Marcus checked his watch and yawned, a sign Percy had learned to mean that Marcus was reaching the end of his attention span.

                “Well, I think I’m going to have to call it a night. Calliope and I are planning on leaving early tomorrow morning and she would be none too pleased if I woke her up,” he said, twisting back and forth to stretch out his back.

                “Oh! Well, of course,” Percy muttered, scowling in disapproval.

                “Relax, Percy. Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re married. It’s how I know what she thinks of all this nonsense,” he said. “Don’t work too late now. Hate to see you become a dull boy.”

                Percy shook his head. “Not going to be able to sleep anyway. I mean, my bunk in the Auror’s barracks is lovely, but I can’t shake the feeling that if I go to sleep in this place I’ll never wake up again.”

                Marcus shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “If I have to see one more letter promising galleons in exchange for better treatment of a loved one then I won’t be able to sleep, and that really doesn’t work for my schedule.”

                Marcus carefully picked his way around the neat stacks and left with a small wave. His footsteps echoed in the hall for a few minutes, then disappeared into the crushing silence. Percy wished there was someone who could stay and sit with him, just so there could be some noise other than his own breathing and the rustling of parchments. He wondered idly what Audrey was up to. Studying, probably.

                There was a loud bang and suddenly Polonius was standing on top of what had been their miscellany pile, shaking with rage and a crumpled parchment balled in his fist.

                “What is the meaning of this?” Polonius roared, throwing the parchment at him. Percy caught it, sighing in dismay as he watched papers float around the room. He carefully smoothed it out and held it up to the light, recognizing the letterhead straightaway.

                “Looks like a letter from Granger and Granger Associates,” he said, fighting hard not to smile.

                “Of course it’s a letter from Granger and Granger Associates! Don’t try to act naïve; I know that Granger woman is your sister by law, and you no doubt did something to bring them here!”

                “But Polonius, the only communication I’ve had with anyone outside of Azkaban is that owl I sent earlier to my brother about his housewarming party,” he said innocently.

                “Oh please, we both know it wasn’t the letter. You’ve smuggled something into Azkaban for communicating with the outside, I know it! Granger and Granger Associates will be here in the morning to continue where you left off, because you couldn’t finish what you started! This is not how we do business in the Ministry of Magic, bringing in outsiders to fight our battles!”

                Suddenly the door flew open and Calliope and Marcus burst in with wands at the ready, panting heavily. The lowered their wands slowly when they saw it was only Polonius and Percy.

                “We came running when we heard the yelling,” Calliope said, sliding her wand back into a wrist sheath. “Please tell me there is a good reason for this commotion?”

                Polonius’ eye twitched. “Tell them, Mr. Weasley. Actually, why don’t you read the letter for us all?”

                Percy cleared his throat, and began to read the letter aloud.

 

                                 To whom it may concern,

 

                                 It has come to the attention of Granger and Granger Associates that unreported house elves are currently being held at the Prison of Azkaban for the purpose of employment. Pursuant to the injunctive order on behalf of S.P.E.W., signed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, that all documentation pertinent to the keeping and treatment of house elves on Ministry of Magic Property, the Prison of Azkaban is similarly obligated to present documentation for review by Granger and Granger Associates, representatives from whom will arrive promptly at 10 A.M. October 21st.

 

                                 Signed,

                                 Hermione Granger, Lead Counselor

 

                “It’s a shame the Azkaban files aren’t in order,” he said. “It seems likely Granger and Granger Associates will have to go through everything to find what is pertinent to their suit.”

                Marcus shook his head in disbelief, but Calliope remained carefully impassive.

                “Don’t you see what’s going on here?” Polonius shouted, finally tearing himself away from Percy to address Calliope and Marcus. He pointed a trembling finger at Percy in accusation. “He sees he has no case, but insists on finding ways to drag this out! Why are you so bound and determined to keep the Dementors out? How much did Granger and Granger Associates offer you? Were you planted on this Committee, a pawn for S.P.E.W.?”

                “Polonius, please,” Calliope said, rolling her eyes. “The number of house elves at Azkaban is negligible; it would hardly be worth buying a Ministry Official just for that.”

                Percy finally felt his cool slip and raised his voice as he leapt to his feet. “Why are you so bound and determined to bring the Dementors back? Don’t you understand that their failure to keep the inmates at Azkaban had actual consequences? How many people died at the hands of escapees? You may not remember the Battle of Hogwarts, but I fought in it. It was like a reunion for Azkaban alumni!”

                “Oh stop being so dramatic,” Polonius said with a sneer.

                Percy felt his ears, cheeks, and neck blush all as one. “Dramatic? Does the name Rookwood sound familiar?” Polonius said nothing and Percy pressed on. “Well it should. He escaped Azkaban in ‘96. He fired a curse that killed my brother in ‘98. If the Dementors had done their job, he never should have been at Hogwarts. Azkaban failed us all.”

                Percy found he had nothing left to say, hot tears simmering in the corners of his eyes.

                “I’m afraid you’ve become emotionally compromised, Mr. Weasley,” Polonius said, shaking his head with a look of contrived sympathy. “I no longer believe you are fit to serve on this Committee, and I’m sure the Wizengamot will quite agree.” Polonius slowly turned and stalked out of the store room, grunting at Calliope as he passed her.

                As soon as Polonius footsteps faded into some distant corridor, Percy collapsed into a heap, not caring if he disheveled papers. He had tried so hard for so long to forget about Fred’s death, and now the wound tore open anew. He vowed, sprawled ridiculously on the hard stone floor amidst piles of paper, he would shut down Azkaban and give the Wizarding world something they could trust to keep them all safe.

                There was a scrape of boot on stone and Percy came back to himself, remembering that he was only one junior aide, one tiny cog in a massive machine, in far over his head and lying crying on the floor like a child after a tantrum in front of the Chief Auror and the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

                “Come on Percy, let’s get you up to bed, you’re not getting anything else done tonight,” Marcus said holding out his arm and pulling Percy back to his feet. Marcus and Calliope looked away while he wiped his face dry on his sleeve and straightened his robes.

                “You realize what you’re getting yourself into?” Calliope asked. “Polonius will bury you deep if you let him.”

                Percy nodded grimly. “Please, spare me the details.”


	5. Chapter Five

                Percy did not sleep that night. He lay awake, staring blankly at the bottom of the bunk above him. One of the day shift Aurors snored quietly somewhere off to his right, but otherwise nothing broke that eerie omnipresent Azkaban quiet. At some point he got himself up and robotically packed his things into his case.

                He was relieved when the Committee decided to leave earlier than originally agreed and postpone their next official meeting to the following day, ostensibly so that everyone could have the day to check in on their other responsibilities and return refreshed on Friday afternoon.

                Percy knew better. He knew Calliope proposed deferring their meeting so everyone would have time to cool down, especially Percy. He was sure Polonius would use the intermission to leverage every contact he had ever made to try to remove Percy. It was entirely possible that Percy would arrive at the meeting to find his seat was filled by some patsy with a letter of dismissal from the Wizengamot in hand.

                All in all, Percy had very little time to build his case.

                He had to find a way to convince Calliope to vote against Polonius. It irked him that Calliope had not recast her vote because of the Warden’s behavior, but he knew she was keeping practical considerations in mind. She had to think about her Aurors, and he had to somehow convince her it would benefit everyone in the long run to keep Azkaban away from the Dementors.

                If Granger and Granger Associates could finish organizing where he left off Percy was fairly confident he would be able to demonstrate the prison had not been run efficiently.

                Polonius sent them on their way with little ceremony and less conversation. He would not even look at Percy, but he didn’t mind. They gathered in the chamber with the prison chair to depart, and Gertrude said, “Until tomorrow then, at three, good day Polonius!”

                Polonius nodded sharply and muttered the incantation to activate the Portkey and sent them on their way. Percy felt the jarring sensation of being pulled through a too small tube he associated with Portkey teleportation, and he found himself breathing a sigh of relief when he opened his eyes to the Ministry courtroom. It felt as though he could breathe again.

                “Do you think Polonius will make an appearance tomorrow?”

                Gertrude tisked. “Oh Marcus, don’t be ridiculous.”

                “If he doesn’t come, I’m voting against him,” Calliope said. She turned on her heel and swept past the high juror chairs and out of the room without another word.

                Percy suddenly felt exhaustion begin crushing him as he walked back to his office. He was unsure of his footing his balance, and even his hearing seemed dulled.

                Another wave of relief washed over him when at last he saw his name in block letters on the smoky glass of his office door. He pushed it open and stood in the threshold of his office for a moment, content to soak in the familiar comfort of it all, the paintings, the peculiar clock, even Wally in his tiny desk in the corner. It was the glorious feeling of finally getting home after a long journey.

                “Oh, good, Percy, you’re back!”

                Percy held up a hand. “Please, Wally, give me a moment,” he said, as he fell into his sturdy seat. He opened and closed the drawers, just to hear the sound of it, and picked up an inkwell to feel its weight. Everything seemed sharper and more immediate than it had at Azkaban.

                “Thank you, Wally,” he said, when he felt ready.

                “Well, before you dive into any projects, I feel obligated to warn you that you have an appointment at 9:30.”

                Percy glanced at the clock, the gnome figure hanging precariously. “It’s 9:15,” he said, not wanting to believe he had a meeting when he no doubt looked like hell.

                “Well said, sir.”

                “Well, who is it with? Did they send an agenda?”

                Wally shook his head. “No agenda today, it’s not with the Ministry. It’s with Granger and Granger Associates. I tried to say you wouldn’t be available, but the representative I spoke with was most… persistent,” he said sheepishly.

                “Did they blackmail you?”

“No, but she implied that she might,” Wally said, and he began fidgeting and rearranging his desk.

                Percy wondered for a moment what Granger and Granger Associates might use to threaten Wally, then suddenly wished he hadn’t.

                “It’s okay, Wally. I need to get in touch with them anyway, so this saves me time.”

                Wally relaxed and Percy began opening letters from his inbox to see what he midst. A note from Kingsley, agendas from meetings, a meeting request from the Department of Broomstick Regulation, but nothing urgent was waiting.

                Three sharp knocks interrupted the sound of scratching quills the moment the gnome figure swung under 9:30. Percy glanced at Wally, who was obliviously adding strokes to his latest sketch. He cleared his throat, and Wally flinched in his seat.

                “You want to get that?”

                “Oh, right!” Wally said, jumping up and pulling the door open.

                A young witch stood in the threshold in smart dress robes in the latest style and her hair pulled back in a businesslike ponytail.

                “Phoebe Plunkett, junior counselor at Granger and Granger Associates,” she said, enthusiastically shaking Wally’s hand as he led her inside and guided her to a chair opposite Percy’s. He stood up and reached over his desk to shake her hand.

                “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Mr. Weasley. We wanted a chance to discuss the possible presence of house elves in Azkaban, and we understand you are on a Committee for the Reformation of Azkaban?”

                 Percy leaned back in his chair. It was a welcome change from the stone floors of Azkaban, and his back was already starting to ache less. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re discussing reformation, counselor. We’re not that far yet. Right now we’re an advisory committee to make a suggestion to the Wizengamot regarding the wisdom of returning the Dementors to Azkaban,” he explained. Her hand raced over her clipboard as she jotted down notes.

                “Excellent. And your stance, Mr. Weasley?”

                He frowned. “My vote on the matter is public record, I believe.”

                “Still, we at Granger and Granger Associates place little faith in the public record. We would like to hear it from you, in the event that your opinions have changed,” she said, smiling sweetly at him.

                “Fine. I voted against returning to the use of Dementors and I stand by that decision.”

                “And did the unlawful employment of house elves at Azkaban inform your vote?”

                Percy rubbed his eyes wearily. He was far too tired for the full rigmarole.

                “Listen, Ms. Plunkett, if you wouldn’t mind, I would rather just get down to business. I’ve barely slept in three days. Tell me what Hermione-“

                “Counselor Granger,” Phoebe corrected, her smile slipping just a touch.

                Wally laughed loudly from his corner. “You realize she married his brother, right?”

                “Wally, go buy yourself a pastry,” Percy said. He wasn’t in the mood for Wally’s input right now. “And don’t feel the need to rush on the way back.”

                Wally glared at Percy but he grabbed his satchel and left, slamming the door on the way out. Percy wondered if he would have to apologize later.

                “Tell me what Counselor Granger wants and I’ll tell you what I want in return,” he said. He would worry about Wally after the meeting.

                Phoebe paused to look over her notes. She considered them carefully, sucking on the end of her quill.

                “All right,” she said, looking back up at him, “Counselor Granger wants a written statement from you about how the house elves are being treated and what tasks they are performing on a regular basis.”

                Percy watched the people run to and fro on his painting of the Ministry lobby and tapped on his chin, as if he were weighing his options. The request was perfectly reasonable and he had no problem giving a statement, but it wouldn’t do to look like a pushover.

                “All right,” he said. “There are Granger and Granger Associates on their way to Azkaban for research. I’ve started organizing the Azkaban files, but the Warden has deliberately left them disorganized for about eighteen years. I wasn’t able to finish, or to catalog the documents I need for my case. I want your counselors to earmark anything which suggests the prison is running inefficiently and send me copies for review.”

                Phoebe’s face hardened and she set down her quill, crossing her arms.

                “That’s a lot of work in exchange for a statement,” she said coolly.

                “It’s nothing you weren’t going to have to do for your own case anyway,” Percy said, blinking away a sudden wave of fatigue. “Besides, I was the one who tipped off Herm… Counselor Granger, in the first place.”

                “We have a policy at Granger and Granger Associates not to disclose our sources,” she said.

                Percy laughed in spite of himself. Normally he would have been able to stifle it in his current state he didn’t care. Phoebe scowled but did not say anything.

                “Well?” he asked, reaching out his hand for her to shake. “Deal?”

                “It still seems like you’re getting quite a bit more out of this than we are.”

                “If you shake I’ll give my statement, and just as a show of good faith I’ll give you my memory for a pensieve of the Warden of Azkaban laughing about occasionally finding a dead house elf in a corner.”

                Phoebe took a sharp breath and took his hand eagerly.

                “Wonderful,” he said, and he stood and opened the door for her. Wally waited in the hall, flakes and crumbs decorating his collar.

                “You’ll have our first report tomorrow at nine. We’ll be in touch for your memory,” Phoebe said as she stepped around Wally. She nodded at Percy and disappeared into the bustle of Ministry employees.

                “I take it there was a reason you were such a jerk to me?” Wally asked, brushing his shirt clean.

                “Come inside and I’ll fill you in.”

 

* * *

 

 

                Percy caught up Wally on his visit to Azkaban, then turned his attention to the growing piles of busy work cluttering his desk. Lunchtime came and he quickly finished his sandwich, then excused himself to take a walk. His legs still ached from lack of sleep, but he wanted to get some fresh air.

                He took the telephone booth lift to the visitor’s entrance in the back alley. The bell dinged as he slid up to street level, and he brushed past a pair of old wizards heading into the Ministry. Percy buttoned his overcoat closed and walked quickly down the rainy street. He followed the flow of the muggle foot traffic for a few blocks then stepped out of the swarms under an overhang to shield him from the drizzle.

                Percy glanced around to make sure he didn’t recognize any faces or clothes from the Ministry. Satisfied there were no witches or wizards loitering, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the cellular phone Audrey had given him and called her.

                The phone rang twice before Audrey answered. “Hey,” she said.

                “Hey.”

                “How was your prison tour?”

                “It was hell. I missed you.”

                Audrey laughed. “You better have.”

                “How was your exam?”

                He heard fuzz as she let out a slow exhale. “I’m nervous about it. Usually that means I did fine. I won’t find out until next week. This professor is a really slow grader.”

                “I’m sure you did fine. You certainly put in the work.”

                “Thanks, Perce.”

                He paused, swallowing hard to steel himself. “Do you remember me mentioning a housewarming party for my brother?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Well, I know this is short notice, and you probably have other things to do. Like anything else. But do you want to come?” Percy felt his heart race while he waited for her answer. Two cars honked at each other, followed by a string of curses.

                “Sure. Your family’s all going to be there, right?”

                “Yeah. You’ve already met Ron and George through, so hopefully it won’t be too overwhelming.”

                “Relax, Percy, I’ll be fine. I’m sure it’ll be worse for you than for me.”

* * *

 

 

                Percy awoke the next morning feeling somewhat refreshed, but it would have taken another twelve hours of sleep to shake off the fatigue and lingering cold. He was only dimly aware of shoveling breakfast into his mouth before tossing floo powder onto the fireplace to take him to the Ministry. He only had until the committee meeting at three to demonstrate ample reason for continuing the inquiry, and he only had until six to prepare himself for Ron and Hermione’s party. He didn’t know which would be worse.

                He arrived at his office earlier than usual, which was to say there were few house elves scampering through the halls and sweeping up the chaff of bureaucracy. He wanted a few minutes to himself before facing the day in earnest.

                Once Percy was satisfied that he was alone, that no one was about to blow in the door, he slid open the bottom drawer and pulled out the list of Azkaban Wardens. It had a few new creases from being smuggled in his pocket, but for some reason he’d felt it was important. It didn’t tell him anything about Azkaban itself, but he couldn’t stop wondering about what it was trying to tell him about Polonius. Polonius had served as Warden of Azkaban for longer than the previous ten Wardens combined. He didn’t recognize any of their names, but if Marcus was right and officials were only named Warden as a punishment, it seemed unlikely that many of them went on to lead illustrious careers. Even Percy couldn’t imagine wanting to work for the Ministry of Magic after being sent to work in Azkaban.  

                The doorknob rattled as someone fumbled with it and Percy thrust the list back in the drawer and slammed it shut. Wally finally managed to swing the door open with his back, balancing a precarious stack of envelopes between his hands and his chin. He only just made it to the inbox on Percy’s desk without dropping them.

                “Granger and Granger Associates?” Percy asked.

                Wally nodded grimly. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

                “Well, whatever I did get myself into, you’re going to help me get out of it,” Percy murmured, flipping through the labels on the first few envelopes. He passed a handful to Wally as he made his way back to his seat.

                “How did they get all this organized?” Wally wondered aloud, ripping one open and dumping its contents in a heap.

                “Well, I did start it for them,” Percy said irritably. “But Hermione did develop some good spells for organizing, but they are really tricky to do.”

                He tore open an envelope titled “Family Visitation Records and Trends.” There were only a half dozen pages inside, mostly sparse notes on denied visitation requests.

                “What exactly am I looking for again?” Wally asked, squinting hard as he held a page close to his face. He needed glasses badly, but Percy had learned the hard way not to point that out.

                “I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it. Look fast. I want to find something worth presenting by noon so I can put together a decent report.”

                Percy emptied one envelope after another, and before long the words began to blur into one another. Hermione had put together a lot of good information for him, but Percy had a sinking feeling that the Azkaban files were simply not complete. What if Polonius had made a practice of discarding paperwork over the years? If true there would be no way to prove it.

                He realized he had been staring mindlessly at the same page from “Inmate Profiles,” without reading a word of it for fifteen minutes. His mind kept wandering back to the Warden list in his bottom drawer. There had to be something there, he was convinced of it.

                “Oh did you meet old Wolfgang?” Wally asked, looking up from his parchment.

                Percy started, not realizing he had been muttering the Wardens’ names out loud.

                “What?”

                “Wolfgang Boot? You said his name a minute ago? You meet him?”

                Percy shook his head. “No, I didn’t. He was one of the former Wardens of Azkaban.”

                Wally let out a low whistle. “No way. You want to meet him?

                “That’d be great, actually.”

                They worked silently for a time, Percy scribbling haphazard notes. For once the scratching of his quill annoyed him.

                “Hey Perce?” Wally said softly, peering inside an envelope to be sure he wasn’t overlooking anything.

                “What is it?”

                “There’s no budget anywhere,” Wally said, a look of exultation lighting up his face.


	6. Chapter Six

                 “There are some records of Accounts Payable, but there is no master budget in the Azkaban files. No itemized listing of Azkaban’s costs, nothing at all showing how Ministry dollars are being spent,” Percy said, trying his to best to ignore Polonius’ furious glare.

                “Well Polonius? What do you have to say?” Gertrude asked. Her voice had lost the tone of familiarity she normally reserved for him.

                Polonius raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Now listen. Don’t make more of this than you need to. Azkaban does not have a budget because Azkaban’s budget never changes. The Ministry pays a set rate based on how many beds we have filled. More beds means more money, fewer beds means less. It’s very simple. We have no uncontrollable costs because we have no real personnel – Azkaban was operated entirely by house elves and Dementors.”

                “Even so, Polonius, there is a certain level of accountability we must hold ourselves to in the Ministry, and a budget is a basic expectation,” Calliope said, narrowing her eyes. “The Auror Office is given almost entirely free reign, and yet even I fill out a quarterly budget report.”

                Polonius slammed his hands on the table, and two of the floating candles darted away from him, casting him into shadow. “Did you not hear me? Azkaban has no unpredictable costs. It is not like other departments, fraught with human error. It requires no budget to show where funds go. This has been the case even before I was Warden.”

                “What about the mass breakouts?” Marcus asked.

                “What do you mean? The number of full beds decreased, and therefore the money allocated to Azkaban decreased accordingly,” Polonius growled. He clearly did not enjoy his odds at the moment.

                “Weren’t there large holes in the side of Azkaban? Did you not have to pay for repairs?”

                Polonius twiddled his thumbs, his eyes searching the dark ceiling for an answer. “The house elves took care of it,” he said evenly.

                “Some house elves,” Marcus scoffed, shaking his hand and checking his watch. “Don’t insult yourself, or us, like this, Polonius.”

                “Just what are you implying, Marcus?”

                Calliope raised her hand to cut off Marcus’ retort, and began packing her notes into her bag. “Enough of this. I’m giving you until Monday. Either turn in a good, full budget when we reconvene on Monday or I’m calling for your resignation.”

                “M-my resignation?” Polonius stammered, looking around the boardroom with a fading smile to see if someone was about to leap out and tell him it was all a joke.

                “Yes, your resignation. But don’t worry, I haven’t decided to vote against the Dementors yet. If, however, budgeting for Azkaban is as simple as you suggest, then you should be able to draw it up by checking your headcounts. Monday at three still our time? Good.”

                Calliope walked briskly out of the boardroom, the door slowly swinging closed behind her. Marcus caught Percy’s attention and glanced pointedly towards the door. Percy grabbed his papers and slid them into his satchel, not bothering to organize them first, and quickly left without a word to Polonius.

                Almost as soon as he had stepped into the hall, he felt a broad hand wrap around his arm.

                “Walk with me,” Marcus said sternly, and Percy let him guide them through the crowded Ministry halls. Marcus was short, but broad shoulders and with the determined path of a freight train, and the people jumped out of their way. Percy realized before long that Marcus was taking him to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Percy’s office was on the same floor, but he had never actually had occasion to step into their halls.

                Marcus fumbled with his keys for a moment at his door for a moment before fitting the proper one into the lock and letting them inside.

                His office was about what Percy imagined hell might look like. It was the same terrible mess of papers that he had left in the Azkaban storerooms, except they weren’t just piles on the floor. Papers were erratically hanging from the walls, tacked to every inch of available space.  The bookshelves, the desk, even the window was papered over with lists and pictures.

                “Relax Percy, there’s an organized version of all this in records. It’s just easier for me if I can see everything all at once,” he said, seeing Percy’s look of horror.

                Percy nodded and eased himself into the wooden chair. It reminded him of the ones his mother kept in the dining room.

                “So, what would you like to talk about,” Percy asked, folding his hands in front of him.

                “You know you’ve got Polonius backed into a corner, right?”

                Percy considered trying to sound humble, but decided against it. “Yes, I do.”

                “You know what they say about rats backed into corners, right?” Marcus said, looking very solemn.

                Percy scowled. “I think the expression is badgers backed into a corner.”

                “No, I think it’s definitely rats…” Marcus said, shaking his head. “Badgers are noble animals, and Polonius is nothing like a badger.”

                Percy’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, you were in Hufflepuff.”

                “Yup. We’ll huff and we’ll puff and we’ll blow your house down. We bleed black and yellow. I know ‘em all,” Marcus said, shaping his fingers into an H. “But seriously though. With Polonius backed into a corner things are bound to get nasty.”

                “You don’t think Polonius would really try anything, do you?”

                Marcus pulled thoughtfully at his lip, “I think Polonius has been very content and very fixed in his ways for a very long time. There’s no telling what a person like that might do. And, lucky, for you, he’s probably going to blame you for the fate of Azkaban.”

                Percy swallowed hard. “And what do you propose I do?’

                “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do,” he said, leaning back in his squeaking chair and scratching his chin. “Just be aware of it. And don’t forget whatever you used to get you through the Battle of Hogwarts.”

                “I won’t,” Percy said. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “Why didn’t Calliope cast her vote instead of just threatening to call for Polonius’ resignation?” he asked, not wanting to dwell on what Polonius might or might not do.

                “Isn’t it obvious?” Marcus frowned. “You’ve done a remarkable job demonstrating Polonius’ incompetence. But his subpar recordkeeping only shows that he is not fit to serve as Warden. It says nothing about whether or not the Dementors are fit to serve at Azkaban.

                Percy groaned, only just resisting the urge to slump forward and smack his forehead into his palms.

                “If you want to keep the Dementors out of Azkaban, don’t forget you’re talking about more than just a changing of the guard,” Marcus continued. “It would involve restructuring Departments, possibly doubling the number of Aurors permanently. That means hiring, training, and financing, three things no one likes. It’s a logistical nightmare. Besides, if Calliope doesn’t at least pretend to put careful thought into this decision, it will look like she’s making a power grab.”

                “I don’t get it. What’s the point of convening this committee if the cards are stacked this way?” Percy asked through gritted teeth. He wanted to scream from frustration. He knew that on some level Polonius was right, that he had become compromised, that he was taking it all personally. But he didn’t regret it becoming personal. Now it was about Fred’s death, and Percy couldn’t imagine how to change that fact.

                He had almost forgotten he wasn’t alone until Marcus spoke again, “You know Percy, this is what’s hard about working in the Ministry. We technically should be in a position to make real change, but it’s always so damnably slow. We might win this battle, but I don’t want to beat yourself up if we don’t, alright? There’s always tomorrow.”

                Percy nodded, but he didn’t agree. Maybe he would, in time, but right now he couldn’t think beyond their final committee meeting on Wednesday.

                “Then why did you vote against the Dementors?”

                Marcus chuckled and pulled his collar loose.

                “Because it’s Calliope’s problem. I can afford to be an idealist, because I don’t have to actually make it happen. Calliope is the one who has to be realistic,” he said, glancing up at the clock and making a face. “Well it’s almost quitting time. I’ve no doubt kept you too long. Really though, regardless of what happens, I would sleep with one eye open for a while, you hear?”

                “Thanks,” he said, without meaning it.


	7. Chapter Seven

                “Okay, Audrey, now that we’re all good friends, could you explain to me how eel mail works?” Arthur asked between mouthfuls of turkey.  Percy groaned in exasperation. He had warned Audrey of his father’s penchant for ludicrous questions, but to actually hear them brought mortifying to a whole new level.

                Percy had never been invited to sit so close to his father at a family function before, but he ought to have known Arthur wasn’t just trying to treat his children more equitably. He should have declined the offer and sat kitty corner to his mother and next to Bill, like he normally did. At the very least, he should have waited until after the seating had been deciding before letting slip that Audrey was not just muggle born, but was in fact a muggle herself.

                “Eel mail?” she repeated, wiping her mouth.

                “Yes, eel mail. It sounds remarkably impractical. Especially compared to owl mail.”

                “Oh!” Audrey exclaimed, slapping her her forehead in recognition. “Email. I think you mean email.”

                Arthur stared at her blankly, turkey dangling from his fork. Apparently email was no clearer to him than eel mail.

                Audrey pursed her lips, carefully thinking about her answer.

                “It basically uses pulses of electricity, the same electricity for a lightbulb, as smoke signals to spell out messages from one computer to another,” she said

                Arthur took another bite and nodded, evidently satisfies with her answer.

                “All right then, do you have rooms in your house where you don’t chat?” he asked.

                “Er…”

                “Dad, I think that’ll be enough,” Percy said, looking about frantically to see if any of his brothers might be willing to help him change the subject. They all looked highly amused, and for once in their miserable little lives, neither Bill, George, nor Ron were going to say anything at all. Especially Ron, who had eyes for nothing but his drumstick.

                “I think this is a fair question!” Arthur pressed, “if muggles have rooms called chatrooms, presumably they have rooms that are non-chatrooms, and this is a most curious phenomenon!”

                “Oh, Arthur, dear, I agree with Percy, just leave the poor girl alone,” Molly said, patting Arthur on the shoulder and spooning more potatoes onto his plate. “Do you have any siblings, Audrey?”

                “Oh God,” Percy muttered, rubbing his brow.

                “No, I’m an only child.”

                “Oh!” Molly looked perplexed. “But I’m sure someday you will want more than - ”

                “How are the dungbombs selling?” Percy blurted, determined to interrupt his mother’s line of questioning at all costs.

                George perked up. “Oh, you know Percy, they’re the mainstay of the business. The very lifeblood of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and they are becoming an important rite of passage for any young witch or wizard.”

                “What’s a dungbomb?” Audrey asked, looking a little afraid.

                “They’re exactly what they sound like, and they are strictly forbidden in this home,” Hermione said sharply, looking dangerously at George.

                “I think that is very wise, Hermione.”

                “Thank you, Fleur.”

                “Would you like a sample Audrey?” George offered, pointedly ignoring Hermione.

                “Wow, Perce, I bet you would have brought home a muggle years ago if you’d have known it would have made you this popular,” Bill said as he bounced Victoire on his knee.

                “Bill if you think Fenrir left some scars, wait until I’ve gotten through with you,” Percy said, gritting his teeth.

                “I’ll not have threats at this table,” Molly said sternly.

                Hermione stood up, her chair scraping over the floor.

                “Actually, Molly, this is my dinner table, and I will say I’m fine with threats so long as no blood is drawn,” she said, slowly easing herself back down.

                “It’s Ron’s dinner table now too, dear.”

                “Ron’s dinner table?” Hermione echoed incredulously. “You think working part time for George could afford this dinner table? No offense George.”

                “None taken. I only pay him in store credit anyway.”

                “Wait you only… never mind. If Granger and Granger Associates weren’t doing so well, we wouldn’t be having this get together at all!”

                Ron remained silent, still thoroughly engaged in his turkey leg.

                “That’s wonderful dear, but I think you will do even better as Weasley and Weasley Associates. It just has a nicer ring to it, don’t you think?”

                “Blood has just been drawn,” Percy whispered to Audrey. She nodded, almost imperceptibly, as she feigned intense interest in a chandelier.

                Victoire suddenly started to cry, her face turning from white to red in a heartbeat. Bill stood, patting her on the back, and walked towards the living room.

                “Fleur, do you think you could help me with her?” Bill asked, leaning back into the dining room. Fleur neatly placed her fork and knife on her plate and followed him.

                “Angelina couldn’t make it?” Percy asked.

George shook his head, sculpting his potatoes into an angry face. “I’m going to pick out some dungbombs for Audrey,” he announced, and stepped out of the room.

“So how is Magical Law Enforcement treating Harry?” Arthur asked, pushing his plate away and patting his stomach in satisfaction. “I’m technically in the same division, but I never see him around. Is he on field assignment?”

                Ron nodded and wiped his hands on his napkin.

                “Yeah, he’s mostly been checking liquor licenses in Knockturn Alley. He’s not too thrilled about it. He was hoping that wouldn’t make him serve five years in Magical Law Enforcement before joining the Aurors, but the new Chief Auror is really strict about it. You’d think defeating Voldemort would be enough.”

                Percy smiled. He didn’t know Calliope well, but he felt he could imagine the look on her face when Harry asked to have his prerequisites waived.

                “Yes, our Ginny is marrying Harry Potter,” Molly told Audrey with a smug smile.

                “Mom, she wouldn’t know who that is,” Percy said. “Where are Ginny and Harry anyway?”

“Ginny didn’t want to come and Harry didn’t want to come unless Ginny was coming,” Ron began, and Hermione elbowed him sharply. “I mean, Ginny had Quidditch practice and Harry…” he paused, evidently having forgotten the rest of his script, “is sick?”

Percy took Bill and Fleur’s abandoned plates and stacked them on his own. “We can help with dishes.” Audrey grabbed some loose silverware and followed Percy into the kitchen. Thankfully there was a dividing wall lined with pantry shelving to shield them from view.

“Isn’t there a spell for this?” Audrey whispered as she put the silverware in the skink and turned on the faucet.

Percy nodded. “Yeah, it’d be pretty easy to levitate dishes in here and set them to scrubbing themselves, but then we wouldn’t have an excuse to step out. You doing okay?”

She squeezed his shoulder. “I’m doing fine. It’s probably worse for you than it is for me.”

A stack of the remaining dishes floated into the kitchen, Hermione following close behind. They landed neatly on the counter.

“Oh good, I’d hope I’d get a chance to talk to you,” Hermione said when she saw them by the sink. She stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled out a cheesecake, setting it on the counter to defrost.

“I’m sorry if I seemed rude, Audrey, but Molly and I have an ongoing disagreement and sometimes it butts into our other conversations.”

“Oh, of course not. I really respect how you stood your ground. It can’t have been easy,” Audrey said, finding a cupboard with small plates and counting them out.

Hermione smiled and gave Percy an odd look. It looked like approval, but he wasn’t accustomed to seeing it so he couldn’t be sure.

“Thank you Audrey. I don’t know if Percy mentioned it, but I am muggle born, so if you ever need … translation, feel free to ask me. You’re putting on a brave face for someone meeting all the Weasley’s in one go like this. I can’t say I envy you.”

Audrey shrugged. “I was just telling Percy it was probably worse for him than it is for me. I am a little disappointed that I can’t use this as a case study for my family dynamics unit.”

“So has Mum tried to commission a copy of the Weasley family tree for you yet?” Percy asked, unable to restrain a grin. “I hear she had quite the masterpiece done for Bill and Fleur.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “She says she will do no such thing until I agree to change my name.”

“So holding out is a win win for you then?” Audrey asked, quietly checking around the dividing wall to make sure Molly wasn’t coming around the corner.

Hermione snorted. “Too true. I never imagined that Molly would suddenly be so invested in family in this way. It’s almost as if she’s determined to establish a new Wizarding World Order with the Weasley dynasty at its head.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Anyway, Percy, I’ve been wanting to chance to talk to you about the Azkaban files off the record. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

“And I thought Granger and Granger Associates never revealed its sources.” Percy said smugly.

“Oh hush. I didn’t want to put this down on paper until I had to chance to double check, but there’s an issue with the prisoner bios.”

“Like?”

“The numbers don’t add up. The headcounts are higher than the actual rosters reflect.”

Percy’s mouth dropped open. “So they’re holding unidentified prisoners?”

“That’s one possibility,” Hermione said grimly. “Either that or the Warden is padding his numbers and pocketing the extra galleons, which seems more likely to me.”

Percy scowled. This was good information, but only if he was building a case for Polonius’ removal. He wanted more. He wanted Azkaban.

“Did you find anything about the breakouts? Anything about the repairs, even?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. Ekrizdis made sure you can’t apparate in or out of Azkaban, and it’s unplottable, so unless there was a stash of broomsticks in a cupboard that can handle long distance flying, it’s hard to imagine how it could have happened.”

“Who’s Ekrizdis?” Percy asked, his brow furrowed.

Hermione sighed. “Honestly, Percy, I thought you of all of the Weasley’s would have done better. If you want to understand something, you have to start with its history. I have a book in my library with a few chapters about Azkaban. Don’t leave until I give it to you.”

George leaned his head around the corner. “Are you almost done in here? Mum’s started asking me questions and I don’t like it.”

Hermione took a deep breath to steel herself. “Good luck out there,” she said to Audrey, then turned and walked back into the dining room with the defrosted cheesecake and a brave face.

 

* * *

 

 

“I am so sorry she asked about Penelope,” Percy said as he sat down with their lattes, apologizing for what he imagined was close to the fiftieth time since they left Ron and Hermione’s.

“Relax, Perce,” Audrey said. She lifted her mug to her nose and inhaled deeply, savoring the smell. “I’m not about to be threatened by a high school girlfriend. Honestly, it would be a little concerning if I was the first person you dated.”

“Still, I never imagined she would ever bring herself to say anything like that,” he muttered, unable to bring himself to look at her. Percy was beginning to miss the days when he never spoke to his family. He spent a lot less time feeling embarrassed in those days.

Audrey reached over the table and placed her hand on his.

“Percy, there is no offense taken, there is no harm done. You are officially absolved. Let’s not spoil our morning with apologizing, especially not your first trip to a coffee shop.”

Percy nodded, feeling a little better. He looked around the little shop, taking in its overstuffed chairs, wobbly tables, and steamed windows. He was more than a little proud of himself that no one was giving him or his muggle clothes a second glance. His father would be envious.

Not that he had any intention of speaking to his family any time soon, not after their characteristic poor behavior.

“Are you sure I’m okay to read this here?” he asked, glancing around furtively as he slowly hoisted the massive leather-bound tome from Hermione’s library out of his satchel.

Audrey laughed and leaned over her notebook.

“If you sit here long enough, you’ll hear people talking about chi calming, chakra alignment, and aura reading. In the unlikely event that someone hears anything you might say, they will only think you’re another New Ager, or worse, a gamer. But that second possibility would really only reflect poorly on me for sitting with you in public.”

“Thanks,” he said, slurping up some foam as he opened _Notable Magical Buildings of Great Britain and their Notable Histories_. Much of it was dedicated to Hogwarts, the Castle Hadrian, Diagon Alley, and the Ministry of Magic, but it did have a few chapters on Azkaban and other less savory destinations.

As he drank his first latte, he read about the founder Ekrizdis, who built up the castle on a secluded isle so he would have a private place to perform his gruesome experiments on muggles. He had become well versed in many dark magics and crafted many dark artifacts. He was especially skilled in the creation of semiautonomous items, and many things in Azkaban responded to his will, bound to him by infusing his own blood into their creation, including what was believed to be the first Quick Notes Quill. When he finally died of mysterious circumstances, the fortress was forgotten for many years until rediscovered by explorers searching for Avalon, and the structure was recommissioned for use by the Ministry of Magic.

Percy closed the book again and rubbed his eyes. He still needed more. It would probably not be enough to say that the prison itself was inherently dark – everyone knew that already. All the better for housing Dementors and Dark wizards. Even he had to admit there was something poetic about imprisoning Dark Wizards in a Dark Wizard’s fortress.

Glass squeaked as he wiped away some of the condensation in the window. Freezing rain was beginning to come down hard, and the window was icing up too. Passerbyers held up their arms to protect their faces and half stumbled, half ran through the slush. Percy shivered and he took another sip of his coffee.

“What are you working on?” he asked Audrey.

She set down her pen and cupped her hands around her mug.

“Practice case studies. I have to do an analysis on sample cases and determine based on the information provided whether or not the client is responding to treatment and whether they might benefit from a different kind of therapy.”

Percy nodded, thinking he understood the gist of what she meant. He had leafed through some of her textbooks at her apartment to learn the basics of what Audrey did. It certainly made him see his friends and family differently.

“You get anything out of your book?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Not really. Just more about how Azkaban is a horrible place. The problem is, some of my colleagues seem to think that’s only more reason for sending criminals there.”

“You don’t agree?”

Percy opened _Notable Buildings_ and fanned through the pages. He wasn’t looking through anything in particular. He just wanted something to do with his hands.

“It seems like by using Azkaban in this way, we turn into its creator by using it to torture. It was torture even being there for just a few days. I think that’s what Ekrizdis would have wanted. We’ve become Dark Wizards in our own right, torturing the prisoners with Dark Magic, and then they die,” he said softly, scowling so hard his head hurt. “Well, I guess that’s not true. Some people are only sentenced to a term, but they’re never the same when they come out. They almost always are Dark Wizards by the time they get out.”

“What makes a wizard Dark?”

Percy shrugged. “It’s hard to say. The simple answer would be to say that they use Dark magic. But we all did, at least a little, during the war. Not using any would have been a little like, as you say, bringing a knife to a gunfight. So we all did a little Dark Magic. But we all just looked the other way. It was war.”

“What makes magic Dark?”

Percy smiled. He knew that Audrey wasn’t interested in Dark magic or Dark Wizards, she just wanted to be a good sounding board. He knew her well enough to tell that’s what she was doing, trying to guide him toward some conclusion, but he didn’t care. It was helpful.

“It’s tough to say. Social norms are a big part of it. People are more lenient in Albania and parts of Eastern Europe, for example, than they are here in Britain, and they’re really touchy about it in the United States. I guess it’s that Dark magic takes a toll on you. You have to have a little bit of evil in you to do it at all. But everyone has a little bit of evil in them during war.”

Percy knew he sounded like he was trying to justify what he had done. He did things he wasn’t proud of doing. Everything happened so fast. It seemed like on moment he was riding his meteoric rise through the Minstry of Magic, right to Fudge’s coattails, and then without warning He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back and people were disappearing and Death Eaters were attacking the Burrow and Fred was dead in a pile of rubble. In the beginning he swore to himself he was only going to stun. Then Fred was dead and everything changed. He changed.

Everyone used the Cruciatus curse by the end. Or Imperius. Maybe even the Killing curse. Everyone was unforgivable by the end.

Maybe that was why he was so desperate to bring an end to Azkaban. If he was honest with himself, he and half the Wizarding world had earned a spot in Azkaban. For all their supposed bravery and honor, even the supposed hero house was reduced to enslavement and torture and murder.

But despite it all, Audrey had never seemed to think he had needed to be forgiven. She didn’t care that he had walked out on his family and sided with a paranoid autocrat. Or that he was the uncool brother. It all meant nothing to her.

“You okay?”

Percy nodded, staring contemplatively down at his empty mug. He was feeling a little burned out. He would be relieved when his Committee tallied the final vote, even if it wasn’t in his favor. The espresso machine whirred violently in the background.

“You want to head out?” he asked. “I’m pretty sure I’ll smell like coffee for days.”

 

* * *

 

 

Fortunately for Percy, muggle soap was stronger than what he was used to, so the shower he took at Audrey’s effectively banished any lingering smells from the café. He quickly sorted through the mountain of mail on his desk to tease out the busywork so he could get that done straightaway.

Wally burst in just as the clock’s gnome figure swung under 9 AM, his harried expression quickly morphing into suspicion.

“It smells nice in here…” he said cautiously, slowly setting his muffin on his desk as if it was trapped.

“It always smells better at the weekend,” Percy said, not looking up as he scribbled a summary for Kingsley.

“Not like this, it doesn’t. It smells minty.”

“I don’t give you enough work,” Percy muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Wally said as he kicked up his feet, shaking off bits of caked mud. Percy frowned at the dirt falling on the clean floor.

“You have too much spare time if you can worry about the smells.”

“I guess that means you don’t want to hear about your meeting with the former Warden of Azkaban, then?” Wally said with a self-satisfied grin.

Percy froze, his quill quivering over an uncrossed t.

“I didn’t see any meeting drawn in on my calendar.”

“Percy, Percy, Percy,” Wally tisked, trying to chuckle knowingly. “This is not a meeting you want on the books. Old Wolfgang doesn’t trust the Ministry. Even the walls here have ears, you know.”

“All right then, where is it?” Percy was afraid to hear the answer. He pretended to continue proofreading his notes, not wanting to seem too interested.

Wally’s grin widened until it threatened to swallow his ears. “The Department of Mysteries.”

“He’s an unspeakable?

“Oh no. He frequents that seedy establishment in Knockturn Alley you love so much. And I told him you’re buying, so bring money.”


	8. Chapter Eight

Percy picked a crease on Wolfgang’s forehead and tried not to look away from it, remembering Wally’s stern warning not to stare too much at the disfiguring scars, the missing chunk of nose, the asymmetrical sideburns, or any of Wolfgang’s other notable features. He was grateful that the Department of Ministry was dim, poorly lit by dirty blue glowballs lining the walls.

“Well, thanks again for meeting with me here,” Percy said, glancing around at the many other patrons nursing their drinks and muttering to one another.

“Sure. Wally said you were okay,” Wolfgang said, his voice a wet grumble. “What do you need?”

Percy leaned forward, then immediately regretted it. Just a few inches closer and Wolfgang’s injuries were even more repulsive.

“I found your name on a list of former Azkaban Wardens,” he said.

Wolfgang opened wide and down the last of his drink, waving the empty glass in the air to summon a refill. “Lot of names on that list, I wager,” he said.

With a sound reminiscent of a flushing urinal, Wolfgang’s glass was full again. Percy couldn’t be sure in the low light, but he thought he could see some debris swirling around in the drink.

“Did you notice anything strange about Azkaban?”

Wolfgang snorted. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

Percy waited, but Wolfgang didn’t seem keen to elaborate.

“He makes a good point, Perce,” Wally said quietly. Percy shot him an angry glare and Wally looked away, squinting at someone sitting at the bar. Percy knew he was right, though. Of course there was something strange about Azkaban.

“Okay, here’s my problem,” Percy said, deciding it might be best to cut to the chase. He pulled the Warden list out of his chest pocket and slapped it down in front of Wolfgang. “Only one person has lasted more than six months as Warden, and he’s been there eighteen years. I want to know why, or how.”

Finally intrigued by something other than his drink, Wolfgang held up the list to the light, his face contorting into an approximation of a smile.

“Terrible place, Azkaban,” he said, almost longingly. “It seeps into your skin, your bones. It wriggles into your brain, it does.”

Percy nodded. He had only been there a couple days. It had been unnerving. He felt like he had an idea of what Wolfgang meant.

“You talk about it as if it’s alive.”

“Think it’s not?” Wolfgang took another swallow, his glass glinting on the table.

“How could it be?”

“You went to school. You tell me Hogwarts isn’t alive?”

Percy had never really thought about it that way. It was true Hogwarts could move, responded to your needs, even. Perhaps it was alive, in a sense.

“Maybe so,” he admitted at last.

Wolfgang nodded. “Azkaban is just as alive, but it wants a master. True, it feeds on its occupants, along with the Dementors. But more than anything, it wants a master. It craves it. And when you come in as Warden, all strong and alive, untouched by the Dementors, it wants you. It needs you. And Azkaban strangles you with its neediness.” He shuddered and polished off the remainder of his drink, a faraway look in his eyes.

“Do you suppose Hogwarts is the same way?” Wally mused.

Wolfgang let out a sharp, barking laugh. “I’d bet my left foot it’s like that. A structure can only have so much magic for so long before it soaks it in. Only difference is, it’s one thing when there’s a cute little kitty cat that wants to share its love, it’s another thing entirely when it’s a Horntail, leaving you corpses with cute little bows on top.” He shook his glass again, and it refilled with another flush. “Well, I think I’ve about had my fill of these. I trust you’ll pick up my tab, as promised?”

Wally nodded. Wolfgang gave both their hands a vigorous shake and careened off into the dark.

“You think you got what you need?” Wally asked, sniffing at his own empty glass.

“I don’t know,” Percy said, frowning. “This was different than I was expecting.”

“Well, what were you expecting? I for one had my money on a sentient building.”

“I was hoping he would point me to something in the Azkaban files. I was hoping for something painfully obvious that we just happened to overlook,” Percy confessed, frustrated with his lack of progress. Wolfgang’s information was certainly interesting, but it was nothing he was going to be able to use as evidence against Azkaban. Calliope might not even care if Azkaban was alive backwrite. She might already know it.

“Too bad,” Wally said, patting Percy’s shoulder tentatively. “But while we’re here, you want to introduce me to your sister?”

Percy almost spit his drink. He swallowed and his mouth worked wordlessly open and closed. “What?” he stammered.

Wally pointed towards the bar. “Don’t tell me that ginger isn’t a Weasley. I’ve worked with enough of you that I know ‘em when I see ‘em.”

Slowly, Percy turned in the rickety chair, and sure enough Ginny was chatting comfortably with the bartender, as if they were old acquaintances. He glanced at her, then at the door, then back at her.

“No, I don’t think that’s my sister,” Percy muttered. “But I can understand why you might make that mistake.”

“Well, I guess she’s mistaken you for someone she knows,” Wally said, grinning broadly.

Perhaps it was how loudly his chair had scraped, or perhaps it was because the barkeep was pointing at him, but Ginny had managed to spot him, her mouth half open. She had that Weasley gleam in her eye that she or the twins got when they were relishing the moment. He knew that in her mind she was already telling everyone she could about the time she saw Percy Ignatius Weasley at the Department of Mysteries, no not that Department of Mysteries, that seedy bar in Knockturn Alley.

He gritted her teeth and gave her a small smile and wave. He supposed he had to go up to the bar to pay off Wolfgang’s tab, so now may as well be that time, even if it meant suffering through Ginny’s commentary.

“Evening Ginny,” he said as he slid onto the stool next to her. He decided it would be best to pretend there was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary.

“Evening Percy,” she said, barely holding her smile in check. He could tell her mind was buzzing wildly to find the perfect snide remark.

“This is my assistant, Wally.”

“Pleasure,” Ginny said, shaking Wally’s hand politely.

“I’d like to pay my and Wolfgang’s tab,” Percy said, determined to not let his calm slip and give Ginny an opening.

The barkeep raised an eyebrow. “Sure about that?”

Percy nodded.

The barkeep shrugged. “Thirty seven galleons, five knuts.”

Percy was glad he was sitting down. He never would have resisted the wave of nausea otherwise.

“What?”

“Thirty seven galleons, five knuts.”

“Wow, you ministry boys sure know how to party,” Ginny said, her voice trembling with glee.

“Stop,” Percy said.

“When did you start? Saturday morning?”

Percy shook his head, still not looking at her. He didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

“How much did you say?” he asked, praying that he misheard the sum both times.

“Thirty seven galleons, five knuts,” Ginny answered for the barkeep. “Did you try to drink Hagrid under the table?”

“I’m sorry, I’ve only got eleven galleons and ten sickles,” he said quietly. “Do you think I could open a line of credit? Short term?”

The barkeep shook his head. “Sorry, lush, this isn’t Gringott’s and I don’t know you, and your friend already owes me money,” he said, leveling a finger at Wally, who squeaked in terror.

“So what can we do?” Percy asked in desperation.

The barkeep rested his elbows on the bar. “Seeing as I’m a nice fellow, I’ll loan you an owl to get someone who can pay thirty seven galleons, five knuts, but you’re not leaving until I’ve got that,” he said, gesturing pointedly at two brawny bouncers flanking the entrance.

Percy’s head spun, and he felt as though he might faint. Who could he borrow the money from who wouldn’t make his life a living hell? Maybe Hermione? That would be a hell of a way to pay back the favor he owed her now.

“Percy, would you like to borrow some money?” Ginny said sweetly.

There had to be another way. Something less shameful than borrowing money from his little sister.

“I can’t take your money,” Percy said weakly, knowing he was going to have to do exactly that.

Ginny fiddled with her hair and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Herb, can you lower the Muffliato for a moment? I’d like to make an appeal to my fellow citizens in squalor.”

The barkeep nodded, pulled a wand from his apron, and tapped it on the bar. Suddenly the ambient noise of indiscernible chatter dropped, and Percy could hear individual voices. Conversations tapered off almost immediately.

                Ginny deftly clambered on to the bar, her heeled boots echoing sharply, and she feigned a drunken sway.

                “Hey everyone! You may recognize me as Ginny Weasley, First Chaser of the Hollyhead Harpies!” A cheer rose and she held up a hand to cut them short. “It seems I’ve gone and thirty seven galleons, five knuts worth of cocktails, and I sure would like someone to party with, but it seems I can’t leave until my tab is paid! I say, whoever pays my last galleon is taking me home tonight!”

                There was a moment of silence and then money started flying. Percy ducked as galleons, sickles, and knuts soared towards the barkeep from every direction. Glasses shattered and shards rained down around him.

                “What now?” Percy asked breathlessly as Ginny hopped down amidst pelting gold, wearing a self-satisfied grin.

                “This,” she said. She grabbed Wally’s wrist and held it up high. “And it looks like this unfortunate looking man is going to be fortunate. Best of luck to you all for next time, and don’t forget to buy tickets for our match against the Chudley Cannons on Friday!”

                Pulling Wally behind her, Percy close on their heels, they raced out of the Department of Mysteries.

               

* * *

 

 

                “You know, I figured of all of us, George would be the one to go to Azkaban,” Ginny said, after giving the matter some serious thought. “Or maybe Ron, but because of something he did on accident, or for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s a close call.”

                Percy collapsed on the bench next to her, winded from the uphill walk out of Knockturn Alley. He really needed to take Audrey’s advice and go jogging with her sometime.

                “Mum was mad you weren’t at Ron’s on Friday,” he said.

                “Ron was supposed to say I had Quidditch.”

                Percy rolled his eyes. “Which he did, but only after he said you didn’t want to come and Harry didn’t want to come without you.”

                Ginny shrugged. “Ah well, it’s always about fifty fifty when you ask Ron to cover for you,” She said. Then she turned to face him with a knowing smile. “I hear you brought a lady friend.”

                “I did.”

                “And I hear she’s a muggle.”

                “You should have seen dad,” he groaned, inadvertently smacking his head into the brick wall behind them. “You know how he gets. He was in full form.”

                “And mum?” she asked, watching a witch with an ice cream trolley being swarmed by children.

                “She picked a spat with Hermione about not changing her name.”

                Ginny laughed and shook her head. “Yeah, mum’s been tailing her about that for a while now. So that’s a big step, bringing a muggle to the Burrow.”

                “I know.”

                “You ready for that?”

                “Oh please,” Percy said, crossing his arms and pulling his feet out of the path of a gaggle of starry eyed students in their new Hogwarts robes. “I do not need relationship advice from my little sister.”

                She reached up and tousled his hair before he could turn away. “Oh Percy, you’ll always need us. Maybe just a little bit.”

                Percy rolled his eyes. “Can we make a deal?” he asked.

                “About what?”

                “I don’t tell mum about what happened and you tell no Weasley I was there with you.”

                “Deal,” she said. “And you’re welcome.”

                


	9. Chapter Nine

                 Percy blinked away his exhaustion and knocked on the Chief Auror’s door. The only opening Calliope had for a meeting before their final Committee was at 5:30 AM. Even Percy was sure he had never gotten up so early.

                The door swung open and Calliope grunted and motioned inside. He took one step and then froze when he saw the Death Eater masks. Dozens of Death Eater masks hung from the walls, pinned in place by rough-hewn nails driven through the foreheads. He recognized some of them, but he couldn’t put a name to them.

                “What did you want to talk about?” Calliope asked, leaning against her desk. Percy noticed she didn’t ask him to sit down. He shifted awkwardly on his feet.

                “It’s Azkaban,” he said, feeling like the empty eyes from the Death Eater masks followed him.

                She smiled wanly. “I know it’s your first Committee so you might not know this, but it’s generally considered poor form to discuss Committee matters outside of designated times.”

                Percy nodded and began turning back towards the door to leave. This was asinine. He should go back to his own office and sleep for a few hours, and let the pieces fall where they may.

                “Percy, it’s okay. Everyone does it anyway. What is it?”

                Percy sighed in relief. “I think Azkaban is pure Dark magic, and I think by continuing to use it like we do we are becoming hypocrites.”

                “Your proof?”

                “We know it was built by a Dark Wizard, who was particularly gifted with using human life force to power his creations. I think Azkaban is one of those things that he powered into sentience. I think that for some reason Warden Greengrass is particularly resilient to its influence. We know of the last twenty Wardens, he is the only one who has persisted for more than a year. I met with a former Warden who insisted that Azkaban is very alive, and it needs to feed.”

                Calliope favored him with a rare smile. “I have to commend your work ethic. Unfortunately, most of what you told me is speculation. I agree with some of it, but it is still just speculation, with more than a few leaps” she said, raising her voice slightly to cut off his protest. “The logistical considerations of staffing the place with Aurors is unmanageable. I did, however, double check your report that the number of prisoner dossiers doesn’t match the headcounts which have been submitted to the Ministry’s budget committee. I bet that Polonius has been padding his own wallet with the difference, and I will be calling for his resignation. Even if he hasn’t been doing that, his own poor recordkeeping suggests that he has grown far too comfortable.”

                Percy felt his hopes floundering. “There must be another way. Maybe with a joint task force of Magical Law Enforcement and Aurors we could move the prison someplace else.”

                “Move the prison?” Calliope repeated incredulously. “While I’m not opposed to that in theory, I just can’t see the Wizengamot approving the budget.”

                Percy shook his head. “Remember the Longbottoms? They were driven mad, and we sentenced the ones who did it to life in Azkaban, where they are in turn being driven mad. It’s unforgivable, what we’re doing.”

                Calliope stepped forward and gripped Percy’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze. “I’m sorry Percy. I get what you’re saying, I really do. You’ve done more than anyone’s asked of you. But I just don’t see how it can be done. I have to take care of my Aurors. I’m still trying to build my numbers back up to replace the ones who died in the war. People will never want to be Aurors again if it means they have to serve rotations at Azkaban. Go take a nap before the meeting. You look like hell.”

* * *

 

 

                Polonius served them drinks in the long boardroom he used for meals. Percy quietly set his drink down untouched, unwilling to accept the show of hospitality. He didn’t like the way Polonius carried on as though the votes came back in his favor. Perhaps he, like Percy, already knew the results.

                “Now that we’ve all had some liquid constitution,” he began, staring pointedly at Percy’s full glass, “let’s get down to business, shall we? I for one would like to put all this unpleasantness behind us so we can all go our lovely separate ways and back to our lovely separate lives.”

                “Seconded,” Marcus said with a shrug.

                “Wonderful!” Gertrude said, clearing her throat. “I feel that we have had ample time for discovery, yes? As the Wizengamot representative, I shall record the official votes. By a show of hands, all opposed?”

                Percy and Marcus raised their hands. Polonius looked positively elated.

                 “All right, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Rathburne, excellent. And in favor? Mr. Greengrass, Ms. Quintin, and myself. I will arrange the various arguments we have heard and present them to the Wizengamot.”

                “Well this is a most fortunate outcome!” Polonius said, wringing his hands together with excitement. “I shall have the house elves bring some refreshment straightaway. Too bad it’s not Friday, we could have had Azkaban surprise!”

                “We’re not done yet,” Calliope said sternly.

                “I’m sorry?” Gertrude asked, and she stopped rolling her parchment.

                “There is more I would like on the record,” Calliope said as she stood, her chair scraping over the rough floor. “First there is the matter of the four breakouts over the course of Mr. Greengrass’ tenure.”

                “Really? This is nonsense!” Polonius appealed to Gertrude, his neck flushing a deep crimson. “The votes are in, this Committee has fulfilled its duty and is disbanded.

                “I’m sorry Polonius. Any Committee member, certainly Chief Auror, has the right to make an official addendum,” Gertrude said, dipping her quill in fresh ink.

                Calliope continued as if uninterrupted. “There is the escape of Barty Crouch Jr., the escape of Sirius Black, then the major breakouts in ’96 and ’97.”

                Percy straightened in surprise. He had never heard of the Barty Crouch Jr. escape. He had not even known there was a Barty Crouch Jr.

                “My Aurors work hard to put these people in Azkaban, and it is the Warden’s sole responsibility to ensure we only have to do it once. He has failed in this. Second, there is the matter of the budget.”

                Polonius rose halfway from his seat and slammed a fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “Which I submitted, per your request, yesterday morning, as you requested!”

                Marcus slowly reached up and grabbed by the shoulder, pulling him back into his chair. Calliope nodded her thanks.

                “Second, there is the matter of the budget. It has been brought to my attention that the roster of prisoner names and histories doesn’t match the headcounts submitted to the Wizengamot’s budget committee. Either there are inmates housed here without Ministry permission, or Mr. Greengrass has been filling a slush fund with Ministry gold. Did you get all that, or do you need another minute?” she asked Gertrude, who sat frozen with her mouth gaping wide.

                “Polonius, tell me this isn’t true!” Gertrude said hoarsely.

                “This is nonsense!” he roared, batting Marcus’ hand away and leaping to his feet. He jabbed his finger across the table into Calliope’s vest. “You want Azkaban for yourself!” 

                Calliope snorted. “Please, Polonius. If I wanted Azkaban, I wouldn’t need this red tape to take it from you. You have two choices, Mr. Greengrass. You resign now, on the record. Or you wait for the Minister to open my letter with my statement that I am opening an investigation, and I assure you, no one ignores the Chief Auror’s owl.”

                Polonius sputtered, stumbling backward and gripping his chest until he backed into walls. He spread his hands out against the stone behind him to support himself.

                “You, you’re making a mistake,” he said, his voice suddenly very quiet and very calm.

                Marcus caught Percy’s eye and stepped around the long table to stand behind Calliope, and Percy followed suit. He really hoped this did not continue to escalate.

                “Rats, Percy,” he whispered, his wand tucked against his forearm.

                “You are making a mistake,” Polonius said again.

                “Your decision, Mr. Greengrass!” Calliope shouted, rapping her knuckles against the table for emphasis. “And do not forget the dozen Aurors downstairs. This is my house. As of now, you are only a guest in it. You may excuse yourself politely, or you will be shown the door.”

“So that’s how it is then?” Polonius said, glaring at each of them in turn. Percy felt his hair standing on end as Polonius’ gaze lingered on him.

“That’s how it is, then,” Calliope said.

Polonius cocked his head, and Percy was certain he felt the floor shiver.

“I disagree,” he said, and Azkaban shuddered.

The next few seconds were one long blur. Massive stone blocks wiggled in the walls and then came loose of their own accord, spraying mortar. They flew towards Polonius and took up a wild orbit around him. Percy could only see glimpses of Polonius between the gaps in the spinning stones, freeze frames of the Warden looking more gleeful by the second. The slab beneath him dislodged from the floor and levitated him off the ground, and the orbiting stones shifted and spun in tight, spherical patterns around him.

Calliope sprang into action. She flicked her wand into her hand and swung it through the air, a wave of force shattering china like popping balloons and throwing the boardroom table onto its side. Marcus slammed Percy to the ground behind the table and a brick whizzed through the empty space where they had just been standing, crashing into the wall with a deafening racket and exploding into shards of granite. Gertrude shrieked and threw herself behind the table next to them, barely dodging the cloud of stone shards.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Marcus shouted as another block slammed into the table, buckling it and shoving them all backwards towards the wall.

Calliope leapt up and fired a red blast over the lip of the table and ducked back down just in time to avoid another brick. More blocks pulled loose from the walls and pummeled the table, warping it into an arch shape and knocking it into Percy’s shoulder and driving them further back. Percy looked behind him and saw his feet were almost touching the walls. Another few hits and they would be smashed into the wall.

“You cover this in Auror Training?” Marcus asked breathlessly.

“We will now! Cover me?”

As one they peeked over the table and Marcus yelled “Reducto!” splitting another flying boulder in two and Calliope threw another curse.

“I can’t hit him between those blocks!” she shouted over the racket, “We’re going to have to try something else if…”

She was interrupted by a pair of blocks pelting the ends of the long table, curving it around them and pinning their knees into the wall. Percy’s teeth rattled and his ears rang. He could barely think. He knew he was a liability but he couldn’t think of what to do. His arm was numb from the impact and the metal table was actually heating up from the incredible force it was absorbing.

Percy stared at the wall, trying to focus, when suddenly it began to vibrate and mortar puffed out of the creases like smoke. He grabbed Calliope’s shoulder and pointed. The bricks started rotating like gears on an axis, slowly at first and rapidly accelerating.

“Whose house is it?” Polonius cackled, as the bricks spun faster and faster. Percy felt a wave of claustrophobia, trapped between the table and the churning bricks. “Tell me it’s your house again, Chief Auror, and see what happens!”

Marcus shrieked as a stray brick smacked his heel and knocked his foot into the mass of spinning stones. He screamed and the wall jerked him back with a sickening lurch, the bricks pulling him in like gears pulling a loose string, grinding his leg and spinning to a halt as they jammed on his knee. Percy grabbed Marcus by the collar with one hand and latched his fingers into a crack into the floor, feeling as though the strength of the wall’s pull would rip his arm out of its socket. Marcus sobbed from the pain, clenching Percy’s elbow in a death grip.

With a look of feral rage Calliope jumped back to her feet and flung the bent table away from them with a sweep of her wand, the metal screeching on stone. She swept her wand again and flipped the table so that it curved toward Polonius. Polonius whipped another block and Calliope intercepted it with the table, flinching under the strain of holding it suspended in the air against so much force. She screamed and sent it soaring at Polonius.

With a cacophonous roar the table crashed into Polonius’ protective sphere of orbiting blocks. They rampaged wildly against the warped table as Polonius struggled to push it back away from him or finally rip it in half.

“Arresto momentum!” Gertrude yelled, and the churning wall of stones pulling Marcus in froze in place. Percy felt a wave of relief wash over him as the strain on his arms relaxed.

“Oh god, oh god,” Marcus gasped, trying to pull himself free, tears streaming down his face. He crawled far enough that his mangled leg was clear but his foot caught.

“Percy, I need you to pull me out,” Marcus said, unable to control his shaking hands enough to find purchase on a crack.

“I need help!” Calliope yelled back to them. She stumbled as her control slipped. The table was warped beyond recognition, and tiny cracks were spreading in a red spiderweb like a pane of glass about to shatter.

“Percy do it!” Marcus cried again.

Percy bit his tong and grabbed Marcus by the thigh, bracing his feet against the frozen wall. Ignoring Marcus’ whimpering, he straightened his legs and wrenched as fast as he could before he had a chance to change his mind. Marcus’ limp leg flopped loose.

“Go help!” Marcus said, clutching his knee. His face was dangerously pale and his voice hoarse.

Percy nodded and breathlessly rushed to Calliope’s side. Gertrude was already there, deeply focused with her wand pointed at the table and Polonius’ raging behind it.

“What do you need?”

Calliope glanced around. “Smoke the bastard out.”

Percy saw what she meant. Wooden chairs and benches lay amidst the rubble of smashed flatware and crumbled rock.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” he muttered, directing three benches beneath Polonius’ levitating slab. “Incendio.”

A thin line of white flame burst from his wand and the furniture ignited without hesitation. Thick black smoke billowed out of the leather bindings and tarred wood.

                He looked around desperately for more furniture to burn. What he had piled wouldn’t last long enough, and the few scattered chairs would be worthless as kindling.

“Objecto engorgio,” Percy said, praying it would work. It was the trickiest spell he’d cast in a long time.

Perhaps it was his urgency, but the spell worked, better than he hoped. The benches tripled in size, and the flames with them.

Calliope grinned as Polonius shrieked, the rocks clanging even more fervently. The table began turning a smoldering red, heated by the flames.

Then the screaming stopped, and everything fell quiet except for the crackling fire and their own labored panting. Percy felt his stomach churning. Had they really just burned Polonius alive?

“Don’t relax yet,” Calliope ordered, and Percy and Gertrude kept their wands raised while they waited, motionless, for a few breaths. Calliope flicked her wand and tossed the shredded table aside, and banished Percy’s flames with another wave.

Percy’s heart sank. Polonius was gone. In his place the wall bubbled out as if his sphere of stone had simply fused into the wall. Calliope swore and wiped grime and dust out of her eyes.

Marcus hobbled up beside them, his face still lined with pain. Apparently he managed to patch himself up to limp. He tisked and shook his head. “He could be anywhere by now.”’

“He’ll be going for the portkey,” Calliope said. “If he destroys that, he cuts us off from getting home or from getting help. Then he can take his time.”

“Then we’re really done for,” Gertrude groaned. “Azkaban is Unplottable. It would take months for the Ministry to track it down once they realize they lost contact.”

Percy slapped his forehead, struck by a sudden realization. “Polonius can apparate in Azkaban. We have to assume it’s destroyed already, and think of where he’ll go next.”

“You’ve taken a blow to the head,” Marcus said, wincing as Calliope helped him into one of the surviving chairs. “You can’t apparate in Azkaban. No one can. Otherwise it wouldn’t work as a prison.”

“And I take it no one can rip blocks of granite out of the wall without an incantation?” Percy countered. “I saw him apparate in Azkaban. That night you and Calliope came running because you heard him yelling at me. He apparated into the room. He’s got a whole slew of powers he shouldn’t have.”

Marcus cursed and turned away, defeated.

“You remember how I said Azkaban was alive?” he asked Calliope, and she nodded. “Azkaban recognizes him as its master, and I’m guessing it’s responding to his will and letting him do things that should be impossible.”

“Do you have any theories about what we could do to break his connection to Azkaban?”

Percy shrugged. “I’m sure anything we can use against him will be secured in his office, where he can keep an eye on it.”

Calliope nodded. “We make for his office. We’ll have to figure something out with the portkey later.”


	10. Chapter Ten

 

Calliope took the lead at a run. They dashed down hallways and flew up staircases, taking two steps at a time. Percy’s chest felt unbearably tight and pain lanced through his stomach from the exertion. Marcus and Gertrude gasped all the harder behind him. They reached the prison block gate and Calliope booted it open without missing a step.

Polonius had released the inmates.

The light of a single Lumos spell floated at the height of the second level of cells, the pale light revealing the cell doors yawning open. Percy could only see outlines of people brawling and punching and biting, grunting and growling and shouting. Driven mad by the solitude and silence, the inmates, released at last from their cells, had turned to vent their frustrations on the closest living things.

“Lumos Maximus!” Marcus cried, and even Percy was momentarily stunned by the brightness. When he blinked away the stars in his vision, he could see dozens of freed inmate staring up at the light spell, bedazzled by the brightest light they had seen in years.

Without hesitation, Calliope muttered an incantation and a long strip of silver ribbon spun from the end of her wand and hovered in a glimmering circle around the four of them.

“Stay close,” she said, and she took a tentative stop forward. Percy moved as close to her as he could without actually touching her.

A group of the inmates tore their gazes away from the Lumos and charged toward them with a howl. As soon as the first inmate reached her hand over the silver ribbon she was tossed backwards, flung clear by the repulsion spell. A second, third, and fourth inmate threw themselves at the ribbon and were likewise sent flying with a shriek. The others stopped, waiting, watching Calliope’s wand with looks of longing.

Calliope guided them slowly through the center of the prison block, breathing steadily and focusing on her wand. Inmates followed them close as they dared, watching eagerly for a break in the spell.

“Fancy bit of magic you got yourself there, Auror Quintin,” a voice rang out. Percy looked up to the second story cells, where an inmate sat in the threshold with his legs dangling out of the door, as casually as if he were in a tree.

Calliope didn’t respond, still leaded them toward the small door at the other side of the block which lead to the next floor and Polonius’ office. They were just past the halfway point, inmates dogging their every step, trailing inches behind them. Percy clenched his wand tightly, trying to think of what spell might do him some good if Calliope’s barrier failed.

“I bet it wouldn’t take a very strong counterspell to fuddle it,” the inmate continued.

“Why don’t you worry about yourself for once, Rodolphus, and it’s Chief Auror now,” Calliope snapped.

“I think of the two of us, I’m the one who needn’t be worried,” Rodolphus said, idly twirling a wand between his fingers. Percy inhaled sharply. He must have gotten it from one of the Aurors. He didn’t want to think about how.

Calliope glanced up and saw the wand, the barrier dimming slightly as her focus shifted. A man reached his hand out to test the barrier as they passed him and he bounced back, but without as much force as before.

“Try something, and you’ll beg for your cell before the end, Rodolphus,” she growled. The silver ribbon brightened as she shifted her focus back to her wand.

Rodolphus shrugged. “Finite…”

“Expelliarmus!” Marcus yelled.

The spell hit Rodolphus before he could finish his own incantation and the wand flew through the air, turning end over end. The crowd of inmates rushed toward the wand with hands outstretched, knocking each other aside as they jockeyed for the best position to catch it.

“Accio wand,” Percy said, and abruptly the wand switched directions midair, and the crowd of inmates followed suit.

A short, stubby woman with a mess of slightly coiled hair in tattered rags hadn’t been fast enough to keep up with the main group of inmates, and now stood between the wand and Percy. Percy gasped in horror as she snatched the flying wand with a triumphant cry. Percy’s summoning spell jerked her form her feet and dragged her screaming along the ground.

Gertrude’s stupefy spell hit the woman just before she hit the silver barrier, knocking her loose. Percy caught the wand, sighing in relief as he slipped it into his shirt.

Marcus reached out and pulled the narrow door open and they piled into the stairwell. Calliope slammed the door shut again and began layering spells of holding. The door rattled violently as the crowd of inmates pounded and yelled on the other side.

“I’m not sure how long these spells will hold up,” Calliope said. The hinges squeaked in protest under the weight of the mob.

“I’ll stay,” Gertrude said, pushing them aside and muttering spells. The door began to glow and hazy outlines of bars coalesced from the golden dust pouring from her wand.

“All right,” Calliope said. “Let’s go.”

The steps of the spiral staircase were short and incredibly steep. Percy slipped and gasped as pain lanced up from his knee, and it took all of his focus in that moment to push through and keep climbing. If Marcus was keeping up with his mangled leg, Percy certainly had no excuse to fall behind.

Percy felt like his legs could take no more when they finally reached the top of the stairwell, and Calliope stopped abruptly.

“This is different,” she said, glancing between the halls that stretched left, right, and straight ahead.

“What do you mean, this is different?” Marcus echoed, steadying himself against a wall and lifting his injured leg to take his weight off of it.

“This used to be a lobby with two doors,” she explained. “He rearranged this.”

“Well if he rearranged this, that means he definitely does not want us up here,” Percy said, trying to muster some optimism.

Calliope shrugged. “I suspect you’re right,” she said. “I was really hoping to avoid this, but we have to split up. We don’t have time to be careful. Whoever finds him first send a Patronus to get the others.”

Percy nodded, his heart hammering wildly in his chest.

“I’ll take left,” Marcus volunteered, holding a hand against the wall as he limped away.

Calliope watched him go with a worried look, then banished it with a visible force of will. Without another word, she marched ahead down the middle hall.

Percy took the right corridor, hoping that it would be the wrong one. Since he left school the only spells he’d used with any regularity were ones to straighten his hair or make his bed. Ironically enough, he barely needed to use magic for his work at the Ministry of Magic. A squib might have written his reports as well. He didn’t have much confidence that he could hold his own with curse and countercurse if he did find Polonius first. Would he be able to cast a Patronus if he did?

Perhaps Polonius’ greatest fear was a different hairstyle, then he might have a chance, Percy mused as he turned right at the next fork.

He came to a sudden halt, faced with three doors side by side at the end of the hall. It shouldn’t be scary, he told himself, his hands trembling at his sides. They were just doors. He went through them all the time. But now, each echoing footstep sounded like a death knell.

Percy stopped in front of the door, nervously rolling his wand in his hand. Before he could change his mind, he rapidly swung it open. It opened to masonry, as if the brick wall continued uninterrupted or the doorframe was just hammered onto the wall. He closed the door, and it snapped shut. It made a clanging like a regular doorjamb.

He opened and closed it twice more to be sure his eyes and ears weren’t fooling him. Was this some joke? He glanced behind him. Should he have gone left instead of right at the fork? He could just go back.

No, no more than ever something told him this was the right way. It was the same gut certainty which told him to find answers in the Warden list. If this was a dead end, it would have just been a dead end. Percy didn’t think Polonius clever enough or devious enough to fill his impromptu maze with true misdirection. He was too sloppy. He’d demonstrated that by overlooking something as basic as budget reports.

He studied the masonry carefully. It looked like the same, gray bricks like everywhere else in Azkaban. He wondered if this could be like the wall in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, and only tapping the right combination of bricks would allow him to pass. If that were the case, he may as well turn around.

“Reducto,” he said, and the curse vanished into the wall without a trace. He shook his head in disbelief. It should have left a mark, a scratch, or even rebounded at him. He felt cheated.

He placed his hand on the wall and gasped as it passed through without meeting any resistance. Percy almost laughed. Could it really be a simple illusion spell? He froze midstep as he was about to walk through. What if there was a sheer drop on the other side, or some other kind of trap?

Percy shook his head. Again, he would have to count on Polonius not being clever enough or devious enough to craft elaborate traps.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to steel himself, then stepped bodily through the illusory wall.

 

* * *

 

 

 “Have a seat, Mr. Weasley,” Polonius said, not bothering to look up from the notes he was scribbling on a fresh roll of parchment.

Percy obeyed, thoroughly unnerved by Polonius’ placid calm, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if he was having a perfectly normal meeting with a subordinate in his office. The globe still spun lazily in the corner, the pendulum still swung off kilter on the clock, and the ominous figure of anguish on the sundial still reached its bowl toward Polonius.

“Did you know that I asked for you to be placed on this committee?” Polonius asked, dabbing his quill in the inkwell before continuing his notes.

Percy shook his head wordlessly. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. His mind raced as he tried to come up with some curse, some trick, which would allow him to neutralize Polonius before he was crushed by a block of granite.

“I was counting on your reputation as a lackey, an underling, someone who would respect established authority,” he explained. He stabbed an angry period on his parchment and carefully laid down his quill. Polonius stood and stepped around the desk leaning against its edge and crossing his arms, looking down at Percy. The eerie sundial rotated subtly on its axis with a grinding noise as it tracked Polonius movement. Percy felt his ears blush. Unlike his brothers, he hated the feeling of being scolded.

“I knew I had Gertrude in my corner. I didn’t know which way Calliope or Marcus would go. But I told myself, now here is a young man who will do as he is told and let things be. Once you were on the official roster I thought it was a sure thing.”

Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His gaze fell again on the sundial. He felt drawn to it, as if was calling out to him. The bowl in the figure’s hands was nearly empty, barely a speck of red left pooling at the bottom. The figure’s arms stretched out a little further, just a half an inch closer to Polonius.

Percy tried not to let the realization show on his face as it dawned on him. Could the sundial be a link between Polonius and Azkaban? When he had first seen the sundial the figure’s bowl was nearly filled to the brim. The blood must bind Azkaban to its master, perhaps even giving it its limited sentience. The battle in the boardroom and the strain of reconstructing the upper the layout of the top floor must have drained Azkaban considerably.

Now it was thirsty, and Percy was bleeding from a dozen cuts.

As much as the idea disgusted him, he knew he had a much better chance of levitating some of his own blood into the sundial unnoticed than actually outcursing Polonius. If he could just get Polonius to turn his back for a moment…

“It’s worth doing things the right way, without shortcuts.,” Percy said, and Polonius narrowed his eyes. “Do you know what your first mistake was?”

Polonius snorted. “Please, enlighten me.”

“You apparated into the storage room when you got the letter from Granger and Granger Associates. Everyone knows you shouldn’t be able to apparate in Azkaban. But you got angry and you took a shortcut,” Percy said, wondering how long he had before Polonius tired of conversation.

“Are you trying to rile me up, thinking I’ll make some mistake?” Polonius said with a wide leer. He drew his wand and spun it. “We’ve already seen one person survive a killing curse in our time, Mr. Weasley, I doubt there will be a second.”

Percy swallowed hard, his own wand clenched tightly in his hands, sweat running down his arm. He glanced at a gash in his forearm. He couldn’t remember where he’d gotten it from. If he could keep it generally out of Polonius’ line of sight while forming a bead of blood with a nonverbal spell, he might have a chance.

“Do you know what your second mistake was?” Percy asked, trying to force determination and confidence onto his face. He didn’t know what Polonius’ second mistake. Maybe Polonius would fill in the blank for him. Wingardium Leviosa, he thought, imagining a small bead of blood forming and lifting off his arm. It’s only a first year spell, he told himself, you can manage a nonverbal first year spell.

“Are you really going to embarrass yourself like this, Mr. Weasley?’

“Are you really the kind of person who can kill someone sitting in front of you?” Percy asked. Polonius froze mid-smirk, and Percy realized he was onto something.

“Sure, throwing boulders at us in the middle of a fight is one thing, but me just sitting here? That takes a certain amount of evil, and I don’t think you have it.”

Polonius looked at the window, hesitation on his face and his shoulders slumping.

Percy glanced at his arm. He had succeeded in forming a bead of blood. It floated motionless, waiting patiently for his direction. Polonius’ lapse of concentration wouldn’t last, and Percy wasn’t willing to see if he was going to have a change of heart and turn himself in.

Percy leapt to his feet and sent his blood soaring towards the sundial.

Polonius saw the blood and shrieked.

“Avada K-“

Percy knew it was over, but he found himself throwing up his arms all the same, wishing he block the curse with only his own skin. The room shook violently and his teeth rattled painfully in his skull and screaming echoed in his ears.

He lay panting on the ground feeling disconnected form his own senses and wondering if he was dead. The screaming wouldn’t stop. He finally realized that he could open his eyes and discovered the source of the screams.

Polonius dangled, a pillar of rock pinning his arm against the ceiling. Percy flinched when he thought of Polonius’ hand and arm crushed between rocks. Then the pillar dropped back into the floor, disappearing into just another flagstone in the floor, and Polonius fell incapacitated in a sobbing heap, his arm flapping and his wand splintered.

“Expecto Patronum,” Percy said, barely managing the incantation between his numb lips. A pale swan drifted from the end of his wand and Percy faded into unconsciousness.


	11. Epilogue

“So how much longer are the Aurors going to be following you around?” Audrey asked, peering between the curtains and the shadowy figures on the street.

It took Percy a moment to realize she was speaking to him. His senses felt dull this far from Azkaban, as if he was hearing everything through a door. It was exhausting, having Azkaban gnawing at his mind, demanding his attention.

“Until they’re certain that I’m not a danger, or until they can find temporary housing for all the inmates. Calliope thinks it will take about a week,” he said, staring down at the dregs swirling in his tea. He wondered if he remembered enough from his two years of divination to read the patterns they might leave behind. “It helps that about a third of the people there were never actually sentenced to serve in Azkaban. They were just forgotten.”

Audrey sat in the chair next to him and took his hand.

“Are you going to be okay until then?”

Percy swallowed and nodded slowly. “I think so. We have some theories of safe ways to break the connection without hurting me. When they do, I have about a dozen committee requests when I get cleared to go back to work.”

Audrey squeezed his hand.

“Do you want to come stay with me for a while?”

Percy smiled. “I’d like that.”


End file.
